


The Last Office on the Left

by Parker4131970, RCs Many Posts (Parker4131970)



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 50,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/Parker4131970, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/RCs%20Many%20Posts





	1. 1 Inhibitions

_**Chicago Museum of Art ….** _

Fraser been standing sentry for four hours at the Chicago Museum of Art. Over the last month he'd seen more of the museum than he had the consulate or the Chicago Police Precinct either one. At least the view of the museum was different than the one he usually saw on sentry duty. The museum had displays of enlarged pictures of miners ascending Chilkoot Pass, maps, replicas of mining materials, and a display of the Northwest Mounted Police, now known as the Royal Canadian Mountie Police. Fraser had read them all the first night. An hour ago the janitor had nearly fainted when Fraser blinked. He'd thought it was a mannequin standing beside the fist sized chunk of raw gold first found nearly a century ago in the northern reaches of Canada.

Overhead fluorescent lighting buzzed as the Mountie stood beside the display in the center of the main gallery. 'Carmack's Gold; A History of the Yukon Gold Rush', gleamed in the flat light on a information placard. Standing absolutely still gave Fraser ample amounts of time to think about things going on in his life. He'd been at the Chicago Consulate for a little over two years and it seemed he hadn't made any headway with Inspector Thatcher. Having Ray (Kowalski) Vecchio as his unofficial partner wasn't helping things. He hadn't been there to see the mess Fraser and the Inspector had met in after Victoria Metcalf. It had been a bad start to a working relationship between Fraser and Thatcher.

Things had taken an upswing when Fraser and Thatcher had shared an amazing kiss on a runaway train, but lately things had been strained between them. She seemed distant and unhappy, at least more distant and unhappy than usual. Fraser had been walking a fine line, trying not to cause her any undue stress. So far it hadn't helped things either.

In the distance, Fraser heard the church bell ring six o'clock. Inspector Thatcher would be arriving with his relief detail any moment. The Mountie looked forward to something to eat and being able to stretch his legs. He would be glad to see Turnbull and Dief.

_******** _

_**Around the Corner …** _

Meg Thatcher flipped the collar of her RCMP issue, navy pea coat up to ward off a breeze off the lake. Turnbull whistled a nursery rhyme as he walked a few yards behind. All Meg could do was grit her teeth and keep on walking. He could be so annoying at times.

“Hot cup of coffee on a cool night, Inspector?” The coffee vendor, a man in his early sixties with expressive, dark eyes set in an oval face greeted her.

“Good evening, Mr. Carson, yes, three cups, thank you kindly.” Meg smiled as she pulled a five dollar bill out of her pocket and laid it down on the counter top of his push cart. With a friendly wink the older man pushed her money away. He would have to throw out the soon anyway if he didn't give it to Meg.

“Mr. Carson, that's no way to make a living.” Meg fussed at him with a friendly smile. He waved a gloved hand at her and shrugged.

“I'm too old to need much of a living, have a good night, Inspector.” Mr. Carson wished her, wiping his cart down. Meg handed Turnbull a cup and took the other two in hand. They smelled heavenly as the steam wafted up.

“Good night, Mr. Carson.” Meg began walking down the sidewalk toward the museum, a man in dark slacks and a leather jacket strolling toward her. When they neared the same cement square the man turned to see something behind him, nearly colliding with the lady Mountie.

“Excuse you.” Meg growled as she tried to keep the coffee from spilling down her jacket front.

“Oh, I'm sorry, guess I should watch where I'm going.” The man apologized, reaching out to steady her. He smiled at Meg, giving her a subtle once over.

“Yes, do.” Meg sniffed, annoyed. She didn't see the two tablets he slipped into the coffee.

“Again, sorry.” The man shrugged before returning on his way.

“Hmm, Americans can be so thoughtless.” Turnbull caught up to the Inspector.

“Makes you miss our nice, polite home, doesn't it?” Meg took a sip of her coffee.

****

_**Outside the Museum …** _

“The love birds will be taken care of in ten minutes.” Carlos spoke low into the cell phone as he stood on the corner outside the museum. He'd been standing outside the museum for the last month, since the Gold Rush exhibit had arrived in town. It didn't take long to get the scoop on the three Mounties guarding the gold and other museum valuables.

“Good, give it ten minutes for the dumb one to get comfortable then we'll make our move.” Andrew, the leader, responded.

“Will do.” Carlos hit the end button and slid the cell in his leather jacket pocket. He pulled a gray toboggan on his head then took up his secondary position across the street from the museum.

***

_**Inside the Museum …** _

Meg let herself into the back entrance of the museum, two coffees in hand. Turnbull had already finished his and walked half a block to find a trash can for the cup.

“Constable Fraser, here you go.” Meg handed him the cup of coffee, a broad smile on her features. It was the first one he'd seen out of her in quite some time.

“Ah, Inspector Thatcher, thank you kindly.” The Mountie took his first step in four hours toward her. The coffee reminded him how hungry he was.

“You're welcome.” She almost giggled, the coffee had tasted too sweet but Meg didn't think anything of it.

“Have a good evening, Constable Turnbull.” Fraser wished him. The junior officer nodded, then stepped back into the spot where he would stand perfectly still until ten o'clock that night.

The museum is a large building, housing various galleries, offices and work rooms where they maintain and restore works of art from all over the globe. Getting lost wasn't unimaginable. Guards patrolled the building all through the day and night. Still, they had a centralized hub to answer to.

“This coffee has an unusual taste, did you get it at Mr. Carson's stand?” Fraser asked, trying to figure out what was out of place.

“I think it tastes awesome.” Meg downed the last third of hers, sighing afterward. The sickly sweet taste clung to her lips as she licked her bottom lip. Her face felt hot and she slipped out of her pea coat.

“Inspector, are you alright, you don't seem to be yourself.” Fraser stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“I feel fine, great actually, but it is hot in here.” Meg began unbuttoning her white, silk blouse, pulling at the thin material. Fraser swallowed hard, his face becoming hot. The Mountie's usually keen thinking seemed to be moving slowly. He finished his coffee, the sweet taste no longer seeming out of place.

“You know what else is hot, Fraser?” Meg slipped out of her heels, pulling her blouse free of her skirt's waist band.

“It is hot in here.” Fraser agreed, pulling on his stiff collar, using his Stetson as a fan.

“You are hot.” Meg giggled like a school girl as she began unfastening the leather belt around Fraser's waist. Before he could say, “Oh dear,” she'd pulled him down in a lip lock. Stunned, Fraser put his hands on her shoulders to push her away but didn't. He felt different, more alive, more fearless than ever. All the reasoning he'd been taught and relied on everyday was no where to be seen.

“One of these offices has to be unlocked.” Meg said when she leaned back, her blouse hanging open down the front.

“If it isn't, I can still get us in.” Fraser volunteered, grabbing his Stetson while Meg began checking doors down one side. He started checking the other side.

“Bingo! Here's one.” Meg leaned against the metal door frame, chewing on her bottom lip as she stared intently at the Mountie. She wanted him like she'd never wanted anyone else. Her heart beat like a jackhammer when he pulled her close and began nibbling on her ear.

“Good.” Fraser murmured as he found the zipper on Meg's skirt and pulled the handle down. They stumbled into the last office on the left, turning over the potted plant near the door and slamming against the desk. Meg giggled as she began unfastening, unzipping and undressing the Mountie. There were too many layers to his uniform to suit her. Fraser slid her satin lined skirt off, the material hitting the floor.

“Ooh, Fraser, that tickles!” Meg laughed as they found their way to the leather couch beyond the desk. She peeled his under shirt off to see his tone chest, her hands exploring the expanse of his back as she felt his tongue dart into her mouth.

Both of them felt unleashed, free in a way they'd never experienced before. There was no formality, no protocol, and certainly no regulations between them now. Like magnets, Meg and Ben were inexplicably drawn to each other, craving each other. Meg breathed in Ben's scent as he tasted her soft skin in places she didn't know she had. The urges, the impulses, they kept buttoned down every day were free to rise and be heard for the first time. It was touch and be touched for the two Canadians that night in the last office on the left.

****  


	2. 2

Chapter Two

_**Turnbull on Sentry …** _

The junior Mountie stood perfectly still, a serene expression on his fair face. Inside his head 'Ring Around the Rosie' went round and round as he stared vacantly into the museum. A man in a ski mask tip toed up behind him and laid the lanky Mountie out cold.

“Have you got the security system taken care of, Carlos?” Andrew, a former high school football player called as he tied the Mountie up and gagged him.

“It's done, Andrew, we're good to go.” The shorter, dark haired man smiled as he jogged over to the gold display. The pair of thieves lifted off the glass surrounding the fist sized chunk of gold. Before the night was over, they'd made off with over a million dollars worth of artwork that would be on the black market in less than twenty-four hours.

****

_**The Last Office on the Left …** _

The central heating kicked on, blowing warm air down on the sleeping Canadians. Meg's head pounded as she tried to sit up. She wondered at her surroundings, her dark eyes blood shot and her stomach churning. The sunshine through the windows behind the couch didn't help her head or her stomach. Looking around, she noted the rooms' state; everything on the desk had hit the floor, covering the tile with papers, the potted palm had deposited dirt and broken into pieces. On the other end of the six foot couch sat Fraser, his head leaned back on the wing. He wore his starched boxers and nothing else.

“Oh my word!” Meg breathed as she tried to recall the previous night. She looked down at herself. Her hands barely came out the ends of Fraser's red serge sleeves, she didn't have on anything else, no undies, no shirt, nothing.

“Fraser, wake up.” Meg began searching for her clothes, until then, she pulled Fraser's uniform tightly around her frame. She called his name again but nothing happened. She found his pants in the corner. When he didn't rouse, Meg took a cup of water from the water cooler in the corner and threw it in his face. The Mountie snapped to consciousness. He immediately ran his hands over his face.

“Fraser, you've got to get dressed.” Meg nearly whispered, her head spinning and the noise of her own voice pounding like a sledgehammer.

“Uhhh, Inspector Thatcher, don't shout, I can hear you.” Fraser grumbled. His head hurt so bad he thought he could _see_ noises and hear the heartbeats of spiders in the ceiling tiles. Meg frowned at him, his pants in her hand.

“I don't know what happened last night, Fraser, but we have to get dressed and find the party responsible for this.” Meg found her skirt behind the desk and slid it on under Fraser's red serge.

“Does your mouth taste like stale lemons?” Fraser raked his tongue against his front teeth, trying to scrape off the bitter taste. “I believe we were slipped a drug of some kind, I've never encountered anything like this.”

“I don't know, my head hurts too badly to taste anything.” The Inspector held her spinning head as she pulled her white, silk blouse out from beneath the couch cushions.

“I've only seen double like this once before, from a head injury, I fell off a cliff at a place called Bear Wallow. I thought for a while that my Uncle Tiberius was talking to me.” Fraser over shared.

“Fraser, I don't care. What's important now is that you and I aren't caught looking like this.” Meg fumed a she yanked on the zipper at her back, pulling the handle off. She groaned as it stuck halfway down. Annoyed, she turned her skirt around and tried to pull it up without the handle.

“Ah, yes, I agree.” Fraser turned a complete circle looking for his Stetson. He was already fully dressed, except for his trusty hat.

Meg continued to work on her zipper, pulling until her fingers slipped off and her thumb nail dug painfully into her index finger's pad. Sighing, she pursed her lips and thought for a solution.

“May I, Sir?” Fraser offered, taking a paperclip from the desk top.

“Give it a try, Fraser.” Meg watched as he stepped to within a foot of her and slipped the paperclip through the loop and used it as a handle. She could feel his fingers brush against her stomach as he worked. When he finished, Benton looked up, into Meg's dark eyes. She was studying him, her brows knit as their eyes met.

“Yes, Inspector?” Fraser asked quietly, for both their sakes.

“Do you remember anything from last night, Constable Fraser?” She asked, also quietly, her tone a bit fearful. Benton Fraser remembered a lot of things, he remembered white lace and pink ribbon but he'd never admit it.

“No, Sir, I don't remember.” Fraser lied, his throat tightening.

Ten minutes later the Mounties had cleaned the desk and the potted palm as well as the couch.

“Here's your Stetson, Fraser.” Meg picked it up from the desk chair and tossed it at him. With his usual grace, Benton caught it and put it on.

Walking back into the gallery, Ben and Meg nearly walked into a sleeping Turnbull. The junior Mountie snored loudly, sighing as Fraser turned him over onto his back. Pulling the duct tape off his mouth woke him up, screaming.

“Turnbull, shut up.” Meg kicked him with the toe of her square toed heel. The junior Mountie squirmed and wiggled until he was sitting up.

“Inspector Thatcher, someone knocked me unconscious.” After Fraser untied him, Turnbull hugged the Inspector, making her wince.

“Fraser, find the guards, report the break-in.” Meg went into 'Inspector' mode.

“Yes, Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser answered with less than normal force.

****

The guards had succumbed to a high dosage of sedative. Three grown men lay on the floor of the lobby, all in different places. Fraser roused the one at the entrance desk first.

“Huh, what, Constable Fraser.” The short, pudgy man blinked, trying to make sense of everything.

“Henry, focus, the museum has been robbed.” Fraser picked up the phone and began dialing, going through the protocols.

“Is anyone hurt?” The guard stood up and looked around, seeing his co-workers lying on the floor.

“No, but you do need to call the museum curator.” Fraser directed the security guard to the other half of the procedure.

****

_**CCPD …** _

Ray arrived in his slick, black GTO twenty minutes after Fraser called into the station. Two sets of uniformed patrolmen had already arrived. The Mounties and the security guards stood waiting for the detective to arrive.

“Hey, Bennie, did the bad guys finally get you?” Ray grinned like he'd won a foot race.

“Several hundred thousand dollars in art has been stolen, as well as the gold from the gold rush exhibit.” Fraser admitted, wishing he could be anywhere else.

“Whoa!” Ray's blue eyes bugged out. He didn't envy Fraser the pressure he knew was coming down the pike straight for him.

“Detective Vecchio, I've called your Lieutenant Welsh, he's on his way, Curator Schieffelin is as well.” Inspector Thatcher detailed, her head still thumping, despite the extra strength Tylenol and a bottle of water. Her head actually hurt worse.

“Okay, so I, 'eh, guess you've called the forensics team too then.” Ray said as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

“No, I believe that is your job, Detective.” Meg's narrowed her eyes, one brow raised in annoyance, she stood with one hand on her hip.

“So, just tell me what happened, eh, last night.” Ray began taking notes for his report. Fraser began to speak, but Meg silenced him with an icy stare. He stopped before he started, taking a step back, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Constable Turnbull and I arrived last night at precisely six o'clock to relieve Constable Fraser of sentry duty here at the museum. Constable Fraser and I left the museum then went our separate ways. This morning when Constable Turnbull was supposed to report but didn't we began retracing his steps. I let Constable Fraser and myself in to find Turnbull here on the floor.” Meg spoke clearly. Fraser held his breath, wondering why the Inspector was lying so blatantly.

The forensics team arrived behind Lieutenant Welsh. The stocky set officer walked in and immediately took over.

“Inspector Thatcher, Constable Fraser, good morning.” The lieutenant greeted them with a nod, his coffee in hand. Meg looked at the authoritative officer. He hadn't made it to the precinct yet, his coat still on.

“Morning, Lieutenant Welsh, it seems we have a crime scene to deal with.” Meg spoke low, her tone emotionless.

“That we do, Inspector, is everyone alright?” Welsh finished his coffee, the smell of it turning Meg's stomach. She never wanted to see another cup of coffee in her life after the previous night.

“Yes, the museum guards were slipped sedatives, probably in their coffees and someone knocked Constable Turnbull unconscious.” The Inspector tried not to let on that her stomach was turning wrong side out.

“If you'd like to take Turnbull back to the consulate that'd be alright, I know where to contact him if there are any further questions.” Welsh released them. Meg was silently grateful.

As the three Canadians were walking out the museum's front entrance past the red and blue swirl of Chicago cop cars, Turnbull asked, “Sir, isn't that the same clothing you were wearing yesterday when we arrived at the museum?” Meg immediately wished she'd left him gagged with duct tape.

“You're mistaken, Constable Turnbull, the thief must have hit you harder than I thought, perhaps we should take you to the emergency room for tests.” Inspector Thatcher suggested. The razor sharp tone of her voice told Turnbull that he need not ask any more questions if he didn't want to be reassigned to a post somewhere south of the North Pole.

“I'm fine, Inspector Thatcher.” The junior Mountie kept his own council from then on.

****

_**Afternoon …** _

“Constable Fraser, to my office please.” Meg rang the phone in his office. The effects of the drug were beginning to wear off, but loud noises still set his teeth on edge. Fraser hung up and proceeded down the hall toward her closed doors. He started to knock when he heard,

“Just open the door, Fraser.” Inspector Thatcher sat behind her desk, her fingers laced in front of her as she stared straight ahead.

“Sit down, Constable Fraser, we have to discuss the events of last night.” Meg took a deep breath. She felt so tired she just wanted to curl up on her couch and nap.

“Sir, I feel that the events of last night would best be left to...” Fraser remained standing despite the Inspector's order.

“Forgotten, I agree, but this morning when we found ourselves, ah, compromised, I lied to Lt. Welsh and Ray, I want you to understand the reason for my actions.” Thatcher straightened her jacket, trying to get through this without remembering the first kiss they'd shared in the hallway or the way he smelled.

“Inspector, I've had time to think and I see your reasoning. As officers of the RCMP, fraternization is strictly forbidden in cases where one outranks the other. It is highly unlikely that I will be promoted and equally as unlikely that you will be demoted. Such fraternization would result in one or both of our reassignments. It would also undermine the integrity of the RCMP should it come to light we were in the building during the theft.” Fraser explained. Meg blinked a few times, her thoughts jumbled.

“Exactly, I agree. We wouldn't want to tarnish the RCMP image.” Meg swallowed, leaning forward on her elbows at her desk.

“Is there anything else, Inspector?” Fraser asked, hoping she would dismiss him quickly. He and Ray had plans for dinner and a game on television.

“Do you really not remember anything, Fraser?” The Mountie heard the weakness in Meg's voice but didn't react.

“My memory is quite blurred, Sir, I'm sorry.” The way holding her against his bare chest wasn't blurred.

“She wants you to say you remember, Son, a woman wants to know she's wanted, even if it was drug induced.” Robert Fraser's words came out of the aether, his form standing behind Meg.

“Perhaps details will come back to us, Sir, over time.” Fraser smiled, hoping she felt better with that answer. Inspector Thatcher nodded, her eyes betraying her disappointment.

“Dismissed, Constable Fraser.” Meg told him, her voice stronger. She watched him turn and walk away, wondering how he could forget a night like they'd shared.

**** 


	3. 3

Chapter Three

_**The Museum …** _

Andrew signed in to the security system for the museum. With all the commotion going on with the investigation and his contacts inside, the former head of security didn't have much trouble gaining access the day after the robbery.

His keen, steel blue eyes scanned the time codes for the day of the robbery. There were a lot of hallway scenes with the three guards going about patrol. About twenty minutes after the Mounties arrived the guards started to go down, falling to the lobby floor. Andrew laughed to himself, thinking about the grand haul he was going to make on the proceeds from the black market sales.

In the middle of the hall he saw the dragon lady Mountie begin to peel off her coat. A few minutes of talking and the other Mountie began fanning with his broad brimmed hat. Andrew leaned down and began studying the figures. When they found the last office on the left, he switched to the camera in there, where the curator kept his most prized files under lock and key. He didn't mind the invasion of his privacy if it meant his files, contacts, and personnel files remained safe.

The two figures hitting the desk top then moving to the couch were clearly the Inspector and her pet constable. Carlos and Andrew had kept a watch on the two for the last month. From their body language, stiff politeness and avoidance between them, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the attraction between them.

Andrew made himself a copy of the pertinent footage and slipped it in his cargo pants pocket. He didn't know how just yet, but the former security man knew it would come in handy later.

“Thanks, buddy, I appreciate your help.” The youngest guard and Andrew's last hire before he was fired shook the older man's hand.

“No problem, friend, let me know if you need anything else.” Jonathan, a bright, young man with too much self interest to do anyone but himself a favor, took the one hundred dollar bill Andrew handed him and socked it in his pocket.

“I'll do that.” Andrew slapped him on the back before heading out of the museum through the back door.

“Did you find the footage?” Carlos asked anxiously when his partner slid into the pickup truck.

“Yep, sure did, I copied it for insurance purposes.” Traffic swirled around the museum as people went about their business, no one noticing the late model Chevy parked behind the museum. Andrew held up the footage of the Mounties' rendezvous in one hand. “I got the Canadians sneaking into the curator's office just before we knocked the dumb one in the head. That Love Dust you got hold of did the trick, and this should do another trick for us. Those two prudes won't want this hitting the news channel's special edition. They'll let the investigation drop.” The thieves high fived each other before Carlos started the truck and put in gear. They thought they'd made a clean get away, not caring if they had to destroy two people's lives in the process.

****

_**Ray's apartment …** _

Dief sat on the carpet, begging for a piece of pizza as Ray and Benton sat watching the first game of the hockey season. They'd each cracked open a fresh can of A&W Root beer when half time was called.

“You've already had your limit, Dief, you know what pizza does to your stomach.” Fraser reminded the deaf wolf.

 _“Oh, Fraser, but please, pizza is so good.”_ The fur ball whined as Ray grabbed a third slice from the delivery box.

“No, no more, you are already going to sleep out on the back porch of the consulate with the pizza you've already eaten.” Fraser shook his head, still working on the crust from his first piece. Ray had thrown his first two crusts in the box. He rarely ate crusts.

“Ah, why don't ya hang an air freshener off his tail and let him stay inside, it's supposed to get cold out tonight.” Ray recommended, watching a car commercial closely.

“Ray, that is out of the question.” Fraser fussed. Ray laughed, he could just see a pine tree air freshener swinging with Dief's every step as it hung off his tail by the elastic band.

“Just sayin', Buddy, it's startin' to get cold.” Ray leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying the new pickup trucks on screen.

“Ray, he's an Arctic wolf, he'll be just fine on the back porch.” Fraser insisted, poo pooing his friend's concern.

“What happened to you last night, I thought we'd planned to watch TV and drink beer last night.” Ray changed the subject, tilting his A&W up for a drink.

“Something came up, I'm sorry.” Fraser stopped eating, mid-bite. He didn't want to lie to Ray but couldn't very well tell him the truth either.

“I tried calling the consulate but no one answered, then I called Inspector Thatcher's number and no one answered there either, weird, eh?” Ray shifted in his seat, putting his feet up on the coffee table during the commercials. “The two of you weren't out together, er something, were ya, Fraser, cause that would just be weirder than I don't know what.” Ray elbowed his friend. He'd heard the Victoria Metcalf story and knew that his friend was susceptible to blindness when it came to women. Then Ray wondered if Inspector Margaret Thatcher qualified as a woman.

“The Inspector and I have no reason to be out together after work, Ray.” Fraser answered neutrally, his gaze fixed on a Hamburger Helper ad, the white glove and a child dancing on screen.

Ray almost called him on it but thought better of it. If Benton Fraser had something up his sleeve, he'd tell Ray sooner or later. Ray was betting on sooner.

“Ah, the game's back on.” The detective elbowed his Canadian friend. They watched the game and Benton left to go back to the consulate. He wanted to get into bed and sleep for a week.

****

_**The Next Day …** _

The Canadian Consulate was a quiet place, quieter than usual. Meg had little to say to Constable Fraser and he avoided her as much as possible. They couldn't look at each other without knowing what had went on in the last office on the left. When they did interact, it was all very professional, all very polite and mundane. Turnbull had seen them like this before, after the Musical Ride train incident. He sensed that this awkwardness was much more intense though. He couldn't ask either of them the reason without prying and the last thing a loyal RCMP officer did was pry into his superior's business, especially if he wanted to stay out of the permafrost.

“Inspector, you have a call on line one, from Ottawa.” Turnbull buzzed his boss and informed her.

“Thank you, Constable Turnbull, put them through.” Meg steadied herself as much as possible for the coming trouble.

“Inspector Thatcher, I presume.” The clipped, male voice on the other end of the line sounded annoyed.

“Yes, with whom am I speaking?” Inspector Thatcher asked, her own annoyance growing.

“This is Samuel Steele,” Meg tried to remember where she'd heard that name before. “I understand that the Carmack Gold was stolen while under your jurisdiction.” He seemed furious.

“Yes, Sir, the Carmack Gold was stolen, along with several other works of art at the Chicago Museum of Art.” Inspector Thatcher tried to control her temper, making him madder wouldn't solve anything.

“The Carmack Gold is an important artifact from the gold rush. The RCMP was prominently showcased during this era.” Steele lectured, going into the history of the force.

“I understand, Sir, the Chicago Police Department is working on the investigation, as well as myself and Constable Fraser.” Meg tried to assure him.

“Fraser, as in Robert Fraser?” Steele's tone changed.

“His son, Sir, Benton Fraser.” Meg hoped that this was a good thing, but wasn't holding her breath.

“Ah, I met Robert Fraser years ago, he was a fine officer.” Steele commented, “I've heard rumors about his son, that he turned in one of our own.” Meg put her hand over the receiver and tried to maintain her composure.

“Yes, Sir, Robert Fraser was murdered by his long time RCMP partner, his son came to Chicago on his trail.” If Fraser had said it once, he'd said it a thousand times. Repeating it for him made Meg smile.

“I see, damn shame. What steps have you taken to recover the Carmack Gold, Inspector Thatcher?” Steele had eased up on his anger but still spoke with a terse, deep tone.

“Constable Fraser is accompanying the Chicago detective as we speak.”

“Good, cooperation, that looks favorably on the both of us.” Steele seemed pleased. Meg breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't need anyone looking over her shoulder on this investigation. It was hard enough with what had happened in the last office on the left hanging between them.

“Keep me posted, Inspector Thatcher, I'll expect a progress report in three days.” Steele abruptly hung up the phone. Meg looked at the phone a moment before hanging it up.

“You're welcome, Samuel Steele.” She growled as she returned to her budget report for the quarterly report due in a few weeks.

****

_**CPD …** _

When Fraser walked into the bull pen Ray was on the phone, Francesca Vecchio was on the phone and so was Lt. Welsh. Dief trotted along side Fraser, sniffing for something sweet. Det. Huey was waiting on the phone, a jelly donut in hand. The wolf began his begging routine.

Fraser took the seat across the desk from Ray. The blonde detective waved, the phone still tucked between his shoulder and ear.

“Hey, Fraser, how's it goin'?” Ray asked, sipping his coffee and taking a note at the same time.

“Good morning, Ray, have you gotten in contact with your source this morning?” The Mountie flipped his Stetson up on the coat tree, nailing the shot.

“Nah, it's too early for my source, I'm working the FBI right now, museum Curator Schieffelin came in and pitched a hissy fit, demanded Welsh call the Feds.” Ray shrugged, hitching his thumb toward the Lieutenant's office.

“Inspector Thatcher won't be pleased.” Fraser sighed, standing up and heading toward Welsh's office. He had to represent the Canadian authorities in the investigation.

“Fraser, just the Canadian I was looking for.” Lt. Welsh ushered the Mountie inside his office. Agent Ford was waiting for him, as was Mr. Schieffelin. Both men were on their guard and clearly unhappy.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen.” Fraser greeted both of them, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Constable Fraser, we've met before.” The FBI agent nodded, his cold eyes surveyed the Mountie with dispassion.

“Curator Schieffelin, you've met Constable Fraser.” Lieutenant Welsh introduced them. The short, balding man nodded, his face red.

“Constable, I want to know what measures are being taken to apprehend the thieves.” The curator spoke first, preempting Agent Ford.

“Detective Vecchio and I are collecting evidence as we speak.” Fraser informed the curator calmly.

“What is being done with this evidence?” Agent Ford stepped forward, his hands on his hips.

“As soon as I'm finished here, Detective Vecchio and myself will begin the 'leg work' as he calls it, following the most likely leads and acquiring further information.” Fraser's empirical logic impressed the the curator. The FBI agent had dealt with the Mountie before and wanted the English version of the information.

“Thank you, Constable Fraser, Agent Ford, Curator Schieffelin and I have more to discuss.” The Lieutenant dismissed Fraser.

“Yes, Lieutenant.” Fraser left the office, swinging by Ray's desk. He nearly tripped over his own two feet when he saw Francesca Vecchio, the real Raymond Vecchio's younger sister.

“Hey, Frase, how's it going?” Frannie batted her long, thick lashes at him, her voice honey sweet.

“Francesca, good afternoon.” Fraser took a deep breath, trying to still his heart, beating like a rabbit's at the sight of an eagle's shadow.

“Fraser, my snitch called earlier than I expected, we gotta go.” The blonde detective stood up and grabbed his jacket. It took him a moment to get his arm through the sleeve.

“I should call the consulate and inform the Inspector.” Fraser picked up the phone and quickly dialed the familiar number.

“Come on, report to the Iron Maiden later.” Ray urged. Frannie had been watching the Mountie, her dark eyes keen on his reaction. She sensed a change in her favorite Canadian.

“What's different about you, Benton?” Frannie leaned on her arm, looking up at him. Fraser shrugged, his heart pounding. Before Fraser could answer, Turnbull greeted him.

“Yes, Constable Turnbull, Detective Vecchio and I are on our way out into the field.” Francesca still looked at him expectantly.

“Thank you kindly, Turnbull, I'll call again later.” Fraser hung the phone up, trying to think of a reasonable answer for Francesca. She knew him too well. The unreasonable side of Fraser told him that Frannie would be able to tell with just one look what had happened in the last office on the left.

“Everything is fine, Francesca, if there's anything else?” Fraser arched his brows in question.

“Be careful out there, Fraser.” Francesca wished him, still suspicious.

**** 


	4. 4

Chapter Four

Francesca gathered the information on all former museum employees, back grounds, current addresses, and criminal records. Detectives Huey and Dewey were assigned the tedious task of collecting all the camera footage of the surrounding area, the security footage and ATM tape, along with the FBI's help. The pod of second bananas worked much better with the Feds than Ray (Kowalski) Vecchio. Agent Ford didn't like Fraser much.

Ray and Fraser had taken the dirtier task of talking to Mr. Carson and Ray's snitches and below board contacts. The blonde detective wouldn't have had it any other way.

“So, Frase, I bet Thatcher was fit to be tied about the robbery.” Ray began, fishing for information.

“Yes, the Inspector was quite upset, as were her superiors in Ottawa I imagine. I'm certain that she's already received a phone call from Canada by now.” Fraser answered as he held on to the door handle of the American muscle car, Ray taking a right hand turn at least fifteen miles over the speed limit. The Mountie's repeated admonitions had gone unheeded but he kept trying anyway.

“I don't understand that woman, she acts like a playground bully er somethin', always tryin' to rule the sandbox.” Ray pressed the Thatcher button to see what would happen. He knew Fraser liked her, that they'd had some kind of intimate, Vulcan mind meld before his time, but he didn't see putting up with her attitude.

“Inspector Thatcher is simply fulfilling her job requirements the best way she knows how. It isn't easy to be a ranking RCMP officer and a female.” Fraser's tone took on an edge that Ray hadn't heard before. He regarded the Mountie for a split second as the glitter of shop windows whizzed by.

“What's going on between you and Thatcher, Fraser, we've had this convo before, but this time you're getting' kinda warped about her.” The detective ran a yellow light as he headed toward the down and out part of the Windy City.

“Nothing, I assure you, Ray.” Fraser crossed his arms over his chest.

“Ah, nope, I call bullshit on that, buddy, 'fess up.” Ray persisted, turning a left in front of a cement truck. Fraser leaned back, already tired of the lie less than forty-eight hours old.

“The thieves who drugged the museum security guards also slipped the Inspector and myself something, I'm still puzzling as to what. Anyway, the morning after the theft, she and I woke up lacking our clothing.” Fraser went on to tell Ray the fuzzy details, such as a gentleman would in his position, about his night with Meg Thatcher. The Mountie leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and he held his face in his hands, feeling sick at his behavior.

“Fraser, that is some serious, ah, serious,” Ray stopped, his mind momentarily blown.

“It is a serious breech of RCMP regulations.” Fraser supplied, groaning.

“Regulations make good fire tender, Son, I once had to burn my handbook.” Robert Fraser said as he and Dief sat in the back of the black, classic car. Benton sat bolt upright, checking the rear view mirror for his father's face. He didn't know why it surprised him when the elder Fraser visited, he did it often enough.

“Yep, here we are, Canary Sunday's place.” Ray pulled his lovingly cared for muscle car in front of a small, cement building along a row of dive bars and girly shows.

“Canary Sunday, is that the name of a person?” Fraser collected his Stetson from the rear seat and unfolded himself from the car.

“Canary isn't just a person, Fraser, she's an institution.” Ray's brows lifted as he toyed with the hilt of his weapon in the holster hanging down his scrawny sides. “Canary Sunday is said to be one of Chicago's top call girls, or she used to be, they say she kept company with famous athletes, presidents, you name it, dating back to the early seventies. She didn't come cheap, but most of her dough got gone when she married into the mob. Now she runs a pawn shop.” Ray explained as he opened the door to the single story building.

“Hey boys, come on in.” A woman in her fifties greeted them as soon as the door was open, the hinges still creaking.

“Canary, how ya doin'?” Ray walked up, a big grin on his face. With a charming smile, the curvaceous woman with bottle blonde hair kept past it's prime, beckoned them.

“I'm doin' fine, Honey, what are you up to?” With her hands on her spreading hips, Canary walked around the counter of the dimly lit building, her girth swaying gently as she walked.

“Searchin' for a couple of guys who're tryin' to get rid of maybe some fancy pants artwork, you heard of anyone like that?” Ray came to lean on the counter of the pawn shop while Fraser examined the merchandise lining the shelves. There were televisions, radios, cellular phones, and various other items easily pocketed.

“No, haven't heard of anyone like that coming around here.” Canary shrugged, her false eye lashes batting with feigned innocence. From the corner of his eye, Fraser watched the woman's reaction to Ray's question. Her gaze had drifted up and to the left. The Mountie shook his head as he took a step toward the counter. Canary Sunday shifted her weight on her over stuffed heels.

“Ms. Sunday, the men we are looking for also have access to sedatives.” Fraser pulled out one of Ray's business cards and handed it to the woman. Ray began to protest but one discreet head shake silenced him.

“Sedatives, like sleeping pills, that kind of stuff?” Canary asked, her husky tone confused.

“Yes, Ms. Sunday.” Fraser agreed.

“Oh, Honey, call me Canary, everyone does, always has.” Her glittering nails pawed the air in the Mountie's general direction.

“If you have any information about these men, please, contact us.” Fraser nodded, replacing his Stetson atop his head.

“Sure will, Sugar.” Canary smiled, her bright smile as sugary as her response.

“Good day, Ma'am.” Fraser tipped his hat, turning to leave. Ray said his good-byes, leaving behind the Mountie.

Halfway down the street, Ray finally said what he'd been thinking for the last ten minutes.

“Fraser, what in the world were you doin' in there, I didn't even get anywhere, pumpin' her for info.” Ray whined as he followed at a faster pace.

“I understand, Ray, but I have now doubt that Ms. Sunday has had contact with several black market contacts, perhaps even the thieves responsible for the museum theft.” Fraser stopped halfway to the GTO.

“How'd ya know that, Frase?” Ray stood with his arms crossed, wiping the questions swirling around in his brain away.

“The inventory of Ms. Sunday's pawn shop was dusty, I doubt she had much business coming in off the street.” Fraser's calculating tone drove the lanky detective crazy.

“So?”

“How does a shop keep the doors open without customers, Ray?” The wiry detective shook his head, still not following.

“When Ms. Sunday said she hadn't had any contact with anyone fitting the description of our she was obviously lying.” the Mountie sounded so certain of his assumption. Ray looked at him blankly before shaking his head.

“You gotta be some kinda mad mind reader Fraser, but you ain't been wrong yet.” Ray sighed, continuing on to the vehicle. He pulled his jacket a little tighter around his frame. There was beginning to be a chill to the air even in the afternoon.

“I'll go see what Canary has in her record, see if we have any leverage on her to get this goin'.” The two-seventh's finest folded himself into the car, cranking it up after Fraser slid inside, Dief still on the back seat, snoozing.

****

“Andrew, honey, the Mountie and a CPD detective were just here in my shop.” Canary spoke low into the old rotary phone sitting behind the pawn shop counter.

“Did they seem to know anything, did they give you a physical description of me or Carlos?” Andrew's voice growled into the phone.

“No, but they said the thieves had access to sedatives, they didn't say nothing about the other stuff I got you.” Canary sounded shook up, it had been forever since she'd had to lie her way out of anything with the police.

“Them cops won't be saying a word, Canary, that stuff you got us to slip into the Canadians' coffee did the trick.” The former security guard's voice was full of satisfaction. He hated those Mounties for their superior attitude and cocky self-assurance.

“Don't worry, Canary, let me handle things, nothing is going to happen.” Andrew promised.

“Let's hope they don't.” Canary agreed before hanging up the phone. She wasn't so certain this deal wasn't going to head south for all of them. Fifty was too old to pull a stretch in prison, especially your first, the old call girl thought.

**** 


	5. 5

Chapter Five

_**CPD …** _

Frannie had the information on Canary Sunday, also known as Sally Sunday. She'd first been arrested in nineteen sixty-seven for prostitution and lascivious acts in public. From then on she'd been connected to movers and shakers through out the underworld for the last thirty odd years, but never arrested again. Nothing had ever been proven against her.

“Hey, Fraser, here's the info you and Ray wanted about that telephone girl, Sunday.” Frannie handed him a pages freshly printed off, one with the mug shot of a very pretty young woman, her make-up smudged down her cheeks.

“I believe you mean 'call girl', Francesca.” Fraser corrected her gently. He was still dealing with the lie laying between them. Telling Ray had relieved some of the pressure, but not all of it.

“Yeah, whatever, you use a telephone to get a call girl.” Frannie waved his correction away, her voice rising in pitch as she fussed.

“How does this help you all solve the museum case?” The Italian descendant asked when she saw that Fraser wasn't listening to her rant.

“There is reason to suspect that Ms. Sunday knows the parties responsible for the theft.” Fraser filled her in, his green eyes scanning the pages quickly, drinking in the information.

“She's their gate or whatever?”

“You mean 'fence', Frannie.” Ray walked into the conversation, taking his seat behind the desk.

“Why do I even bother talking if the two of you are just going to edit me to death?” Frannie walked away, her heels clicking noisily as she did. Neither of them paid her any attention.

“As far as I can discern, there are no outstanding warrants or violations of any kind on Ms. Sunday or her property.” Fraser handed Ray the printed pages.

“That's just the PD's file, I got another ace up my sleeve.” Ray grinned wolfishly, picking up the phone and dialing the IRS.

****

_**The Consulate …** _

“Here's you afternoon tea, Inspector, is there anything else?” Turnbull asked in his soft, breathy tone he used when in close quarters with others. He'd been standing at her desk for the last five minutes, holding the tray.

“Hmm, what Turnbull?” Meg said, turning from the window behind her. She'd been steadily gazing into the side yard of the consulate since she'd asked the junior Mountie to fetch her some tea.

“You tea, Sir.” Turnbull reiterated.

“Ah, thank you, Turnbull, leave it please.” She motioned to the corner of her desk where he usually set the warm tea and sandwich cookies.

“If anyone calls, Turnbull, take a message and tell them I'll contact them tomorrow.” Meg instructed, her face weary. She hadn't slept well the night before.

“Yes, Inspector. If I may, is there something troubling you?” The junior Mountie couldn't help himself.

“No, Constable Turnbull, thank you for your concern.” While her words were cold, Meg's tone lacked it's usual ice. Just the same, Turnbull left well enough alone and left the office.

Once the junior officer had closed the door, Meg leaned back in her swivel chair and let the tears fall. Fraser had to remember as clearly as she did what had happened between them. For Pete's sake, it wasn't every day, or even every year, that either of them started kissing and peeling off layers of clothes. Meg could remember the heat of her body and the raw desire that had driven her. Time had stood still for the two of them, words useless between them.

Meg wanted to cut and run so badly. She wanted to go back to a time where she could focus on her career. Returning to Ottawa or another post was out of the question though. That would look exactly like what it was, running away from a situation she wasn't handling very well. The Inspector knew she would just have to make the best of this bad situation.

There had been overtures toward her in the past, but none of them had kept her up nights simply by smiling at her in an unguarded moment. She wanted to feel Fraser's kisses trailing down her neck again and hear him say her name in that rumbling tone that had sent chills down her spine.

The lady Mountie felt helpless against the need she felt for him. Part of her wondered if this were some kind of side effect of the drugs they'd been slipped. If only she knew whether Fraser felt the same. He had seen her as a person whose heart beat like his once, did he still see her that way?

_**CPD …** _

“Yep, the IRS ain't got zip on Canary.” Ray hung up with a tired sigh. He'd been hoping he'd get the leverage he needed to tip the scales in his favor.

“That's unfortunate,” Fraser commented dryly, his mind elsewhere. “Perhaps if we watched Ms. Sunday's establishment,” The Mountie sat up straight.

“A stake-out.” The American detective's blue eyes sparkled like a child's at Christmas.

“Yes, perhaps Ms. Sunday's clientele would give us a lead.” Fraser stood, Ray following to tell Lieutenant Welsh their idea.

“Hello, Detective, Constable.” Welsh greeted them, Agent Ford standing at the side of his desk.

“Lieutenant Welsh, Fraser and I got us an idea, we should stake-out Canary Sunday's place,” Ray began, his hands gesturing as he spoke. “Me and Fraser here went by there earlier asking about the thieves and he says she was lying to us.” Ray tried to explain about the indicators but failed miserably.

“Canary Sunday has nothing to do with the black market art world, she's a small time mob wife at best.” Agent Ford charged, his eyes as cold as any snake Ray had ever seen.

“I tell you, she's lyin' through her false teeth.” Ray pounded his fist into the palm of his other hand.

“I've read her file, you don't have any basis for a stake-out.” Agent Ford raised his voice.

“Fellas, please, everyone calm down.” Welsh's authoritative voice broke through the din.

“If Constable Fraser says Canary Sunday was hiding something, I for one believe it.” He said to Agent Ford. “Detective, we have limited resources, you have forty-eight hours before I pull the plug.” Welsh turned to Ray.

“Thank you kindly, Lieutenant Welsh.” Fraser stepped in and took Ray by the arm before he could antagonize Agent Ford further.

“Take Huey and Dewey with you.” Welsh offered. Fraser nodded, closing the office door quietly behind him.

“I'd like to cream that snotty Agent Ford's face in with my fist.” Ray fumed, smacking his fist against his palm with a crack.

“Ray, I got a list of the museum's former employees like you asked.” Frannie sauntered up, her smile brightening when she saw Fraser. The Mountie simply nodded.

“Thanks, Frannie. Did any of them have records?” The detective asked, still mad at Agent Ford.

“Yep, I highlighted them.” Frannie tapped a manicured fingernail against the third entry.

“Thanks, Fran.” Ray dove into trying to read the list.

“Thank you kindly, Francesca.” Fraser chimed in, his gaze not quite meeting hers.

“Anything for you, Fraser.” Frannie ran a fingernail under his chin, her gaze smoldering. The charming Italian's warm tone didn't make him blush like it usually did. Frannie turned and walked away, her hips swaying in her best runway walk.

“Man, she's puttin' it on thick today.” Ray shook his head, squinting at the size twelve font on the page in his hands.

“Oh, I hadn't noticed.” Fraser toyed with his lanyard, straightening it.

“You're still recoverin' from you and the Inspector, ain't ya buddy.” Ray teased, his voice low.

“Ray, please, not here.” Fraser turned to his friend, his eyes beseeching him for silence.

“Okay, okay, don't get yer Stetson in a bind, Fraser, geez.” Ray assured him, almost whispering. He didn't know how Fraser's stomach turned at the thoughts of what would happen if his superiors should find out about the liaison. It would spell the end of Meg's career. His career was basically unsalvageable, he didn't want to take her down with him.

The rest of the afternoon was spent arranging the stake-out with Huey and Dewey.

_**The Consulate …** _

Turnbull purposely waited to leave until Fraser had arrived. He'd been listening at the door, unintentionally of course, and heard Inspector Thatcher crying. She hadn't been acting like herself all day and the junior Mountie was concerned. It distressed him greatly that his superior officer was out of sorts in any way.

“Hello, Turnbull.” Fraser greeted him, his Stetson in hand as he came through the door. Dief trotted in behind his human, sniffing his dinner in the wind.

“Constable Fraser, may I have a word, in your office?” Turnbull asked in a conspiratorial tone, his brows knit in concern.

“Of course, Turnbull.” Fraser waited to see what the younger officer had to tell him now. One never knew with Turnbull.

Closing the office door, Turnbull stood ram rod straight in front of Fraser's desk. Robert Fraser sat on the cot in the corner, his eyes shining mischievously.

“Constable Fraser, I don't know what else to do but to report that I believe the Inspector to be in trouble of some kind.” Turnbull's words tumbled out.

“Oh, what gave you that impression?” Fraser asked, waiting patiently for one of Turnbull's rambling explanations.

“After serving her afternoon tea earlier, I closed the door behind myself and heard the distinct sound of crying coming through the door. I stood perfectly still and listened, thinking she may call me back inside to assist but Inspector Thatcher didn't. I've asked her if there was anything she needed but she steadfastly refuses.” Turnbull's fidgeted. He hated being in this position.

“I'll see what's going on, Turnbull, there's no need to worry I'm certain.” Fraser assured the junior officer confidently. He already knew what was bothering Meg and he was the cause.

“Thank you, Constable Fraser, I was beginning to wonder.” Turnbull breathed a sigh of relief.

“I would appreciate it, as I know the Inspector would as well, if you kept this to yourself.” Fraser instructed his subordinate officer, knowing that Meg would be angry if she heard that Turnbull had heard her crying or that he'd said anything to Fraser about it.

“Understood, Sir.” Turnbull nearly snapped his spine he stood so straight.

“Good evening, Turnbull.” Fraser said by way of dismissal. The younger officer left him to his thoughts.

“I told you, Son, a woman likes feedback as much as you do.” Robert Fraser spoke as soon as the office door was closed.

“Dad, it wasn't an exam, it was a,” Words Benton had rather not utter came to mind.

“Affaire d'amour?” The old man supplied with a smirk.

“Yes, I suppose.” Fraser ran his hands though his short hair. It was a love affair was as close as he could figure it.

“Do you regret what happened, Son?” Fraser Sr. asked, his tone cordial but inquiring. Benton thought for a moment. If circumstances presented themselves, he'd take Meg to bed again in a heartbeat. He'd rather things have happened without the aid of illegal drugs though.

“No, by no means.” Fraser admitted, seeing where his father was driving the conversation. The old man spread his hands as if to say, 'then tell her as much'.

“I see that my silence has been detrimental.” Fraser sighed, sitting in his office chair, his long legs stretched out into the walkway.

“The sooner the better, Son, good night.” Robert Fraser faded into the aether, his work for the night done. He left Benton to ponder his situation in silence.

***

_**The Next Morning …** _

“I don't want to go in today.” Meg thought as she laid her clothes out for the day on her bed. The rose colored comforter was spread across her queen sized bed, the white sheets beneath folded expertly into hospital corners. Still, she laid out her slacks, blouse, jacket and chose her simple jewelry carefully as she did every morning. Meg took great pains with her appearance. She wanted to appear polished and elegant but not so much as to draw the wrong kind of attention. Meg Thatcher was a woman of many facets. She could hit her mark on the shooting range with the best of them, with any weapon, but knew her fresh from saltwater pearls as well.

“I just want to feel like myself again, the old me that didn't break down every time I saw Fraser, the me that didn't stop in my tracks when I smelled leather polish.” Meg groaned as she looked into the full length, oval mirror in the corner of her bedroom. The woman looking back at her had dark circles around her eyes and bags. Hopefully she and Max Factor could do something about them.

Meg dressed and ate a breakfast of oatmeal before going to the consulate. She still wasn't in any hurry to get to work. Turnbull would be hovering around and there would be Fraser to be both distracted by and attracted to. His peridot eyes seemed to see right through her.

“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher.” Sure enough, Turnbull was standing outside her office door, a chipper smile on his fresh features.

“Constable Turnbull, hello.” Meg greeted him with her usual lack of enthusiasm. After she'd hung up her coat and emptied out her brief case, Meg heard a tap at the door.

“Come in, Fraser.” Meg called, sitting behind her desk, her glasses stuffed hastily into her desk drawer.

“Inspector Thatcher, good morning.” The Mountie poked his head through the door before walking on in. Meg nearly asked him what was so good about it. Instead she waited for him to come to the point of his visit.

“Inspector Thatcher, I came because I wish to talk about the events of the museum theft.” Fraser began stiffly. He relied on formality to hide his nervousness. Meg's interest was immediately raised.

“I know that you prefer silence on the matter, this will be the only time I speak of it, but I do not regret what happened in the last office on the left.” Fraser stopped abruptly, his piece said to the best of his ability. Meg sat stunned, this was the very last thing she'd expected to hear from him. Reading between the lines she knew he remembered as clearly as she did. She was eager to talk about that night, but didn't know where to begin.

“You still see me the way you did atop the runaway train, Fraser?” Meg asked, her dark eyes shining.

“I do, yes.” Fraser confirmed stoutly. His heart was beating hard in his chest the same as it had on the way to the Musical Ride.

“Then we agree.” Fraser wasn't certain if she were asking a question or making a statement. He toyed with his eye tooth, the tip of his tongue barely grazing the minor imperfection.

“We agree, yes.” He nodded, his gaze intense as he studied her.

“Neither of us can do anything about it can we?” Meg spoke softly, her questions answered about how Fraser felt and if he remembered.

“Unfortunately not I'm afraid.” He looked down at his high browns, studying the boots as if they'd tell him the answer.

 _“Afraid, I am afraid.”_ Meg thought to herself as she blew her held breath out in a quick gust. “Thank you for being forthright, Fraser.” She said with a tight smile. It had been difficult for him to tell her he had no regrets and she appreciated the gesture. It was a step forward for them, albeit small.

“My apologies for your anxiety.” Fraser stopped short of calling her by rank or 'Sir'. Meg heard the catch in his sentence.

“They're gone now.” She chuckled wryly. Fraser simply nodded, taking his leave of her. Meg sat down at her desk, staring into space for a moment.

“Inspector Thatcher, there's a call for you from Ottawa.” Turnbull buzzed her office before transferring the call.

“Good morning, Mr. Steele.” Meg greeted him with the most confident voice she could muster. It was going to be a long day, she could tell.

**** 


	6. 6

Chapter Six

_**The Consulate …** _

Sam Steele wasn't any more cordial when he greeted Inspector than he had been when he hung up with her three days before. Thankfully, Meg was feeling good after the conversation with Fraser.

“Hello, Inspector Thatcher, I presume that you have an update for me.” The harsh tones of the man's voice made her pull the phone away a bit.

“Yes, Sir, Constable Fraser and Chicago Detective Ray Vecchio are following leads,” She went on to give him a full account of the investigation so far.

“Keep up the good work, Inspector Thatcher, I'll be calling to check the progress again soon.” He didn't sound impressed.

“I understand, Mr. Steele.” Meg kept her reply simple and neutral.

“Have a good day, Inspector.” The next sound was the dial tone.

“Not until this is resolved, I'm sure.” Meg grumbled as she hung the phone up. She closed the paperwork files on her desk and stood up, gathering her purse and coat. It was time to roll her sleeves up and join in the investigation.

“Turnbull, I'm going to the Twenty-seventh Precinct.” Meg said as she closed the door to her office. The junior Mountie nodded, confused. She rarely went to the precinct for anything. Determined to see this through even if she had to work with Fraser, Meg set off to find a taxi.

_**At the Precinct …** _

Ray and Fraser were studying the computer screen on the desk, Ray at the seat and Fraser peering over his shoulder when the Inspector walked in. Fraser caught sight of the familiar figure and stood ramrod straight.

“Constable Fraser, Detective.” Meg zeroed in on the red clad Canadian, her dark eyes alive with the thrill of the hunt.

“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher,” Fraser said, puzzled at her sudden appearance.

“Oh, hey, Inspector, what can we do ya for?” Ray looked up from the computer screen and grinned. He noted the way her cheeks warmed as she looked up at Fraser and the way he began fidgeting with his buttons.

“I'm here to see to the progress of the investigation.” Meg answered quickly, beginning to unbutton her trench coat, hanging it below Fraser's Stetson and navy pea coat.

“Oh, Fraser and me are lookin' at the disgruntled employee list right now.” Ray answered, turning the screen around to show her the mug shot of one of the museum's former employees.

“Detectives Huey and Dewey are on stake-out as we speak in front of Canary Sunday's Pawn Shop. We interviewed Ms. Sunday yesterday and suspect that she's been in contact with the criminals responsible for the museum theft.” Fraser added.

“Has anyone interviewed Mr. Carson yet?” Meg wondered. The coffee vendor peddled the streets day after day, if anyone saw a pattern, it should be him.

“Nope, not yet. Why, are you volunteering?” Ray asked, just to annoy the cold Canadian.

“Yes, I believe it would be prudent to interview him as soon as possible, he may have valuable information and not realize it.” Meg nodded, her left hand on her hip and her right hand tapping on the desk. She was a live wire of nerves, being this close to Fraser. The lady Mountie could smell him, see him and feel his rough hands still on her skin like it were five minutes ago instead of four days.

“Alright, I'll have Frannie dig up some more dirt on these guys while we're gone then.” Ray stood up, sliding out from behind his desk and heading off toward Frannie's desk at the front. Silence fell between Fraser and Meg, making both of them squirm, if only internally. Fraser took Ray's seat at the computer while Meg helped herself to the chair across from him. She stared at the windows overlooking the bull pen.

“Say something, Fraser, anything, if we don't speak to each other someone will get the impression that there's tension between us.” Meg spoke low, letting the din of voices surrounding them hide her words. The Mountie looked up from the computer screen and blinked a few times. He didn't really have anything to say.

“I told Ray.” He finally said. Immediately, Fraser knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“You what!” Meg felt outrage run through her like static cling.

Diefenbaker lifted his head off his paws as he lay beside Ray's desk. He'd seen this coming and let Fraser know. The Mountie gave him a reprimanding glare before turning his attention to his boss.

“He surmised that my account of the museum robbery was inaccurate, I only gave him an abbreviated explanation.” Fraser rushed to calm her. He saw her take a deep, calming breath but her eyes were still bright with emotion.

“I suppose this is to be expected, Fraser, you haven't got a deceptive bone in your whole body.” Meg grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

Fraser was a bit put off at her assumption. He wasn't a liar, but he didn't like for anyone to think him incapable of anything. The Mountie supposed it was good thing he had a hyper sense of right and wrong, but it still rankled him a tad.

“I shouldn't have asked you to be deceptive, Fraser.” Meg leaned back against the chair, frowning.

“Okay, let's go if we're goin', trackin' that ole man down may take a while.” Ray came back, rubbing his dry palms together. He could tell from one look at the two Canadians that they'd had a tiff.

“I believe I can determine Mr. Carson's whereabouts quickly, I inadvertently memorized his usual route.” Fraser stood up to retrieve his Stetson. Meg popped up, wanting to take her trench coat off the rack as well. They came toe to toe, facing each other. Both stopped in their tracks. Meg's nose was nearly pointed into Fraser's collar and he stood looking down at her.

“Hey, Ray, I have somethin' for you.” Frannie called out as she came strutting up to the desk.

“Pardon me, Sir.” Fraser stepped back, allowing Meg to turn for her coat. The Civilian Aide stopped beside Ray, staring at the two as they danced around each other. She handed the detective the freshly printed sheet of paper, shaking her head. Fraser and Meg took off toward the door, neither of them meeting anyone's eye. Ray took a sip of his coffee, still reading the criminal background on the coffee vendor.

“What is up with those two, you'd think they'd slept together or something.” Frannie commented. Ray spewed his coffee all over the sheet of paper, nearly choking to death.

“Hmm, what?” He managed, setting his coffee cup down on the desk. His blue eyes were watering as he cleared his throat.

“I said, what is up with Fraser and the Inspector, you'd think they'd slept together or something.” Frannie repeated.

“Ah, I don't know, Frannie, it's Mountie stuff, you know how those two are.” Ray shrugged, trying to make his getaway.

“They have, haven't they, and Fraser told you, didn't he.” Frannie accused as Ray began walking briskly through the busy bull pen. “That's it, I know it.” Frannie persisted, matching the taller detective's every step.

“I'll see you later, Frannie.” Ray began jogging to get away from the dogged Italian.

**

Meg and Fraser stood in the parking lot beside Ray's GTO waiting for him. Both were glad for the cool, fall air to cool their burning cheeks. They felt like teenagers meeting at school the day after making out for the first time.

“Okay, Fraser, where's our prey today?” Ray asked, unlocking the car door for himself. The Mountie slide the seat up for Inspector Thatcher to get into the back seat with Dief. The half-wolf took one whiff of the lady Mountie and knew something was different about her, something besides what had happened in the last office on the left. Dief kept his questions to himself, his nose would let him know more soon.

**

Twenty minutes after the GTO began rolling along the busy, Windy City streets, Ray pulled up to the curb outside the city park. Mr. Carson was situated in a sunny spot, a thick muffler wrapped around his neck as he served two women steaming cups of hot chocolate. The Canadians and Ray bailed out of the low slung muscle car, Dief trotting from tree to tree sniffing.

“Hello, Mr. Carson.” Fraser called as they approached. The older man turned at the sound of his name. His face brightened when he saw the polite Canadians.

“Good morning, Constable Fraser, Inspector Thatcher, how are you?” Mr. Carson's lightly accented voice carried in the wind toward them.

“We're here to ask you about the night of the museum robbery, if you've seen anyone loitering around the area perhaps?” Meg answered as she neared the stainless steel cart. The smell of coffee and sugar pervaded the air around the bantam man.

“The night you and the other Mountie came by my cart for coffee?” The older man situated his black toboggan on his graying head better as he tried to remember.

“Yes, that's right.” Meg encouraged him, rubbing her hands together against the cold. Despite the sun, it was chilly outside.

“I remember that other fellow nearly spilled your coffees, you were upset with him.” Mr. Carson punctuated his speech with a gloved hand, the finger tips snipped off.

“Yes, yes, I remember now, that must be the one who,” Meg stopped herself from saying, _'the one who drugged us'_ , “ah, kept look out for the thieves.” she finished.

“I'll have you, Turnbull and Mr. Carson here all sit down with a sketch artist, looks like we just got our first solid lead.” Ray nodded, his stomach growling at the smell of doughnuts and coffee.

“Yes, it would appear we have.” Meg said as she blew on her frozen fingers. She felt angry with herself for not remembering the man earlier. The events of later that night had distracted her.

“Come on down to the station, Mr. Carson and I'll get this guy's face out on the wire.” Ray handed the man one of his business cards.

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Carson, good day.” Fraser nodded as he began to follow Ray back to the waiting car. He turned back to see Meg stuff her hands in her pockets. Without a word, Fraser slipped his spare pair of fleece lined gloves out of his jacket pocket and handed them to her. Meg began to protest.

“Please, Inspector.” Fraser spoke low, holding her gaze.

“Thank you kindly, Constable, I'll return them as soon as possible.” Meg let a small smile pull at her red lips, her dark eyes smiling for her.

“You're welcome.” Fraser nodded, turning to walk to the car.

**

Ray sat in the GTO, the engine running and the heater cranked full blast. Dief had already taken his seat in the back. The detective saw the exchange between Fraser and the boss lady. He turned to Dief and said,

“I think those two might break the ice yet, don't you.”

Dief barked his affirmation.

“It's been a long time comin', ain't it, buddy.” Ray said to the half-wolf as Fraser opened the door and slid the seat forward for Meg to get in.

“Where to now, people?” Ray asked as the Mountie shut the door.

“Back to the precinct, please, Ray.” Fraser and Meg said in unison.

“Okay.” Ray drawled out. At least they agreed on something.

****


	7. 7

Chapter Seven

_**The CPD ….** _

Joe Dawson loved to draw, he loved the different shapes of people's faces. He also loved to sit and listen to people as they spilled their life's stories. The diminutive, graying man with his sketch pad walked into the bull pen with a smile on his face.

“Hey, Joe, what ya know?” Ray quipped as he walked to his desk.

“Hello, Detective Vecchio.” Joe greeted the wiry detective. Fraser and Meg walked in behind him.

“I got the call that you had someone for me to draw for.” Joe twirled his graphite pencil between his grimy fingers.

“Yep, sure do, the Inspector over there.” Ray pointed toward the petite brunette behind him.

“Hello, Inspector, ah?” Joe waited for the Mountie to supply her name.

“Thatcher.” Meg plopped herself down at Ray's desk, waiting for Joe to get himself ready. The artist looked at her wide eyed for a minute. The whole crew went quiet.

“Oh, are you waiting for me?” Joe said, pointing to himself. Meg gave him her most withering glance. A bit embarrassed, the sketch artist opened his pad and began asking Meg questions about the man who'd ran into her at the coffee vendor's.

Ray led Fraser to the break room to get a sandwich. He fed the machine quarters, browsing the selection.

“Frase, I saw that little thing you and the Iron Maiden had goin' at the park, so are you two like a 'thing' or what?” Ray asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. The Mountie groaned inwardly.

“What do you mean, 'thing', Ray?” Fraser asked, his hands clasped behind his back. The detective grumbled, the Mountie was clueless.

“Are you two a couple or not? Ray re-phrased the question, hitting the buttons for a tuna salad. The machine began to move but just as quickly stopped. Ray kicked it, to no avail.

“A couple, no.” Fraser stepped over to the vending machine and tapped it against the side with the heel of his hand. A tuna salad sandwich fell into the slot at the bottom. Ray shook his head.

“How in the hell do you do that, like, every time?” He took the triangular plastic container and began peeling it open.

“The vending machine's mechanism has a catch in it's armature,” Ray didn't let him finish.

“Frase, that was a, what ya call it, retina question.” The detective bit into the first half of the sandwich, offering Fraser the second. The Mountie declined.

“I believe you meant 'rhetorical' question, Ray.”

“Yeah, that kind of question. But, Fraser, what is up with you and her?” Ray finished off the first half with a third bite. “Are you sweet on her or what?” The detective had a de ja vue wave of high school.

“If you're asking whether or not I have a romantic attachment to the Inspector, I would have to say yes.” Fraser answered, his thumb nail skimming his brow.

“Have you told her that, buddy?” Ray asked around a mouth full of sandwich. From the deer in the headlights expression on the Mountie's face, Ray knew he hadn't before he spoke.

“No, Ray, I have not, although I did tell her that I have no regrets.” Fraser clarified, proud of himself for being so forthright with the Inspector earlier that morning.

“I guess that's Fraser-speak for good kisser.” Ray grinned, teasing his friend.

“Something along those lines, yes.” Fraser toyed with his belt buckle.

“Good for you, buddy, you might just get a girlfriend before you're fifty.” The skinny detective wiggled his eye brows.

“Ray,” came the admonition he'd expected, “my goal in life is not to copulate, there are other pursuits in life, besides, why continue attempting something you're not good at anyway.” Fraser reasoned.

“What, the copulate or the girlfriend?” Ray continued, baiting the Canadian.

“Ray, good heavens.” Fraser walked away completely, muttering something about juvenile and immature, leaving the detective laughing his ass off in the break room.

“Ah, Fraser, come on, I was just kiddin', buddy.” He stumbled out of the break room, his sandwich forgotten in his hand.

When Ray and Fraser got back to the bull pen, Meg had given the sketch artist a detailed version of the thirty-something guy who had bumped into her the night of the museum robbery.

“Constable Fraser, I believe this is one of the men we're looking for.” Meg took Joe's sketch pad and showed it to the red faced Mountie. She saw his flaming visage and raised an eyebrow in question. Fraser shifted his gaze to Ray for an answer. That was explanation enough to answer the unspoken question.

“I'll call Constable Turnbull and have him come in for an independent identification sketch, hopefully they match.” Fraser picked up Ray's phone and dialed the consulate almost without looking at the key pad.

****

Turnbull and Mr. Carson both came in to the precinct and gave Joe Dawson their version of the suspect's image. All three were in agreement generally. The suspect was an average height man with black hair and dark brown eyes and had an easy going attitude; charming even. Francesca and Fraser began searching for the guy in the mug books. Inspector Thatcher and Ray began going over her statement for the night of the theft. Meg was as short, definitely not sweet, and as to the point as possible. She didn't relish sitting with the American detective, especially since he knew her and Fraser's secret. Meg saw the gleam in Ray's light blue eyes and the way he grinned to himself. Meg claimed her coat and purse then she gave Ray a piece of her mind.

“I know Fraser told you about the night at the museum, so you can quit smirking like a seventh grader.” Meg hissed leaning across the desk, her dark eyes as cold and sharp as obsidian. If looks could kill, Ray would have been carried out in a body bag. His adam's apple bobbed.

“Understood.” The blonde detective nodded.

“Constable Fraser, I have business to attend to at the consulate, I'll expect a progress report before your shift ends.” Meg stood at the side of Frannie's desk as they pored over the mug books.

“Understood, Sir.” Fraser stood to attention, nodding as he met her gaze. The Mountie didn't miss the distasteful expression in her eyes when she surveyed Francesca Vecchio. He sensed jealousy but knew better than to say anything. It was neither here nor there in the grand scheme of things.

“Good afternoon, Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser said, locking gazes with her. Meg gave him a polite smile and left the precinct.

“What is her problem, I swear she must have came out of the womb sucking a lemon.” Frannie commented before she thought. Tact wasn't one of her talents. She saw the Mountie's eyes widen in anger but his neutral expression didn't change.

“Detective, Constable, step into my office please.” Lieutenant Welsh called from the door of his small office.

 _“Saved by the boss.”_ Frannie thought to herself as Fraser turned to leave.

The pair walked into the office, both wondering the reason. They exchanged questioning glances before going inside.

****

“I can't believe we got the night shift.” Ray grumbled as he picked up his jacket, flipping up the collar against the chill edging into the fall air. “ Huey and Dewey get to sleep in their nice, comfy beds while we freeze our carcases off sitting across the street.” The blonde detective pulled the keys to his GTO out and tossed them as he and Fraser headed for the precinct door.

“Temperatures are supposed to be below freezing tonight, it should be a nice night.” Fraser smiled, wishing he were home to see the fall move in across the high north. Ray shook his head and rolled his eyes, only a Canadian can look forward to a night of fogging breath and cold noses.

Ray dropped Fraser at the consulate, Dief on his heels. Ray saw the curtains on the left side move slightly.

“Okay, Buddy, I'll meet you at seven tonight right here, see you later.” Ray grinned, pointing towards the now settled curtains in Meg's office. Fraser waved him off, turning to leave.

“Have it your way, Fraser.” Ray squalled a tire pulling back onto the street.

**

 

 

 

 

 

Supernatural- Hollywood Babylon

 


	8. 8

Chapter Eight

_**Stake Out …** _

Ray had pulled on his thermal undies and wore three layers of clothing for the stake out. Fraser wore his usual long sleeve shirt, red flannel shirt and jeans. Dief was an Arctic wolf, he had a fur coat already.

“We're freezin' our asses off out here.” Ray grumbled as they made their second pass around Canary Sunday's place about nine o'clock.

“Patience, Ray, our relief will be here in three hours.” Fraser reminded him calmly.

“You can say that, you pull four hour shifts as a human mannequin, I'm not that patient. I've never understood how you do that anyway.” Ray shoved his hands into his fleece lined jacket pockets.

“It takes determination and patience, Ray.” The Mountie answered into the two way communicator they were on.

“All I know is I'd go crazy standing in one spot half a day, too borin'.” Ray continued.

“I've found that standing perfectly still gives a man time to think without interruption, there's time to consider all the options and weigh the possibilities as well as reflect on past events.” Fraser explained calmly as he stood underneath a street light and watched the bikers cruising and stopping in front of several bars up and down the street.

“I don't know, I think faster on my feet is all.” Ray sounded unconvinced.

“It isn't for everyone, Ray, each person operates by a different set of norms.”

“If you say so, Frase, me, I got to stay on my feet or it's time to lock it down and go to sleep.” Ray shrugged as he passed the Mountie's spot, his gray toboggan down nearly over his eyes.

“So, about you and the Inspector, what are you two going to do?” Ray changed the subject.

“Do, about what, Ray?” Fraser shifted on his feet. His civilian boots weren't as comfortable as his high browns.

“Are you going to start going out er was it just a one night kind of thing?” The detective had to know, the curiosity was killing him.

“It hasn't been discussed.” Fraser answered tightly. A relationship with Meg Thatcher was potentially detrimental to both their careers, not to mention the possibility of rejection. After his Victoria Metcalf fiasco, Fraser wasn't in any hurry to put his heart on the chopping block again. He cared for Meg, in his way, relationship or not. There would always be a soft spot in his heart for her.

“Do you want to go out with her, Fraser, or what?” Ray pressed him.

“I haven't decided, Ray.” Fraser responded, his head swimming.

“Apparently you need to pull a human mannequin shift and figure it out, buddy.” Ray teased.

“Yes, perhaps.” Fraser agreed. “I see lights on in the back of the shop, Ray.” both men came to attention, watching the small, block building's front door. Two men in a pick-up truck cruised past then pulled a U-turn at the end of the street and parked across the street. When the two men slid out of the vehicle, Ray's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. Even without his glasses he could tell the second was the guy that Meg, Turnbull and Mr. Carson had bumped into the night of the theft.

“That's our guy.” Ray whispered loudly into his transmitter.

“Yes, it is.” Fraser answered, keeling down to scratch Dief between the ears, mentally noting the truck's make, model and plate number. Ray didn't even have to ask if the Mountie had the plate number, he trusted him. Canary Sunday opened the front door of the pawn shop, smiling at the two men as they entered. Neither Ray nor Fraser could hear what they said.

“What do you think they're doin' in there, Fraser?” Ray asked quietly, running his thumb nail over his chin as he watched the windows of the former call girl's supposedly legitimate business.

“I don't know, Ray.” Fraser answered in a matter of fact tone.

“It couldn't be anything good, that's for sure.” The detective shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.

**

_**Inside Canary Sunday's …** _

“Hello, boys, I got here as soon as I got the call, we have a buyer for the Carmack gold nugget.” Canary moved around behind the counter, rings and watches glittering in the display case on top of the plywood booth.

“That's great, what are they offering for it?” Andrew asked, shoving his raw boned hands into his jeans pockets. He didn't really care, it didn't cost him anything but he wanted to get out of the city soon.

“One hundred thousand.” Andrew whistled in surprise. That was over thirty thousand each, besides the profit from selling the other works. The ring leader could taste the coconut and rum already.

“Has any of your other contacts called about the paintings and stuff?” Carlos asked, his brown eyes sparkling in anticipation, greedy.

“I've had one or two feelers I'm still waiting on.” Canary gestured with a manicured hand, her red nails flashing in the florescent light.

“Tell the gold buyer that we have a deal and set up the transfer.” Andrew shook hands with the curvaceous older call girl, all parties concerned feeling the rush of the deal.

“Have you managed to shake the cop and that Mountie investigating the robbery?” Carlos asked, examining a wrist watch he knew was stolen.

“They were in here, but I told them I don't know anything. They seemed satisfied, and you know I know when a man is satisfied.” Canary purred, batting her eyelashes at the younger man.

“Yeah, well, I got some insurance if they come sniffing around again.” Andrew thought back to the video cassette he had stashed in the truck.

“What kind of insurance?” Canary tried her most persuasive tone, offhandedly asking.

“Just a little something to keep the Mounties off our trail is all.” Andrew assured her. The nosy, old woman didn't need to know what he had up his sleeve. He had insurance against her and Carlos as well.

“Well, we'd better be getting back to the docks before someone realizes we're gone, have a good night, Canary.” Carlos pulled his dark eyes away from the stolen merchandise in the display case. “I sure will, Honey, you too.” Canary walked the two men to the door. She smiled like a fox watching an open hen house. The buyer had offered one hundred and twenty thousand dollars. She would take her extra twenty thousand and get lost in Europe until the heat in Chicago died down.

“You too, Canary, we'll be seeing you.” Carlos nodded as he flipped the collar of his work jacket up against the night chill.

****

_**The Next Day …** _

“I have the information on those creeps you got the plate number for last night, Fraser.” Francesca handed the Mountie a sheaf of freshly printed pages, her hand on one hip and a friendly smile on her tinted lips.

“Thank you kindly, Francesca.” Fraser smiled briefly, feeling as if he were road kill being circled by vultures. The Civilian Aide gave him her best temptress' gaze, here brown eyes beckoning him to her. Fraser put his nose into the report, walking to Ray's desk through the busy bull pen.

“The guy who owns the truck is Andrew Whitt, former head of security for the museum, until last year when he was caught taking cash out of the admission till. Whitt and Carlos Ramirez were both fired for it.” Frannie began filling in the men's backgrounds.

“I'll inform Ray.” Fraser moved faster, trying to get shed of her. He felt anxious being around her, praying she wouldn't corner him.

“Constable Fraser, a word please.” Lieutenant Welsh called from his door, Ray already in the office. Fraser took the print outs with him.

“Fraser, Agent Ford and his team have surveyed the footage of the robbery, it's a dead end. The information you got on stake out last night turned up some interesting clues.” Welsh sat down, his hands folded across his mid section.

“Andrew Whitt and Carlos Ramirez both work down at the docks since they were fired. You provided a link between Canary Sunday and these two …”

“You're welcome.” Ray piped up, a nasty gleam in his steely, blue eyes. Agent Ford sneered.

“Now we need to find out who Sunday is fencing the stolen art to, and especially the Carmack gold nugget, it could easily be melted down and therefore untraceable.”

“How do you suggest we find the buyers, Agent Ford?” Fraser spoke for the first time.

“The FBI has subpena for wire taps on the Whitt, Ramirez and Sunday's telephones.” Welsh contributed, smoothing his tie over his paunch.

“There's only one hitch, we have reason to believe that one buyer won't be calling, Duke Charleston, a businessman on our radar for racketeering, doesn't use the phone for this kind of thing, unless it's calling out for pizza or to call his mother, he doesn't touch one.” Ford sighed, frustrated that he was once again working with the Chicago PD and the Canadians. He'd never make director like this.

“Mr. Charleston will send an emissary then?” Fraser inquired, his thinking several steps ahead of Ford's.

“Yes, his wife, Emily.” Ford leaned on the desk, his jaw working. It took a seriously cold bastard to send his own wife to do something like this, something she could face prison time for if caught.

“Are you suggesting a switch?” Ray surmised, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened intently.

“Yes, we are. Emily Charleston has agreed to testify against her husband in return for immunity, we've got her at a safe house as we speak.” Ford stood back up, this whole thing made him feel like screaming.

“Who's going in as Emily Charleston?” Fraser wondered, thinking it would be an FBI agent trained in such things or perhaps a Chicago vice officer.

“We were hoping Inspector Thatcher would do it, she looks enough like Emily Charleston to be her sister.” Ford pulled a picture of the woman out of a file folder on Welsh's desk. The resemblance was uncanny.

“Ha! Thatcher won't do it.” Ray chuckled.

“Have you spoken to Inspector Thatcher about the matter, Agent Ford?” Fraser handed him back the photograph.

“No, not yet, I suspect that if you recommend it, she'll agree to be Charleston's emissary.” Ford studied the Mountie's reaction. It was hard to tell if he was for or against it, he was so neutral.

Fraser hesitated to give an opinion one way or another. He knew perfectly well that Meg Thatcher was more than capable and qualified to do this, but part of him dreaded the thought of putting her in danger. He knew her well enough to know that she would do what she wanted despite his opinion. Fraser also knew that Meg was anxious to get the case wrapped up. The longer the investigation dragged on, the more chance there was that someone found out about what happened in the last office on the left. He didn't relish the idea of anyone finding out either.

“I'll act as the Inspector's back-up?” Ford got the feeling that Fraser's question was actually a statement. He didn't care, as long as he wasn't the one dealing with the red witch.

“Fine, one of my team will drive the town car.” Ford agreed quickly.

***   


	9. 9

Chapter Nine

_**The Consulate, Later That Afternoon …** _

“Inspector Thatcher, may we have a moment of your time?” Fraser asked after she bid him enter her office. He saw her pull her reading glasses off and stick them in her top desk drawer.

“Yes, what's this about?” Meg blinked to get the room to focus without her glasses.

“FBI Agent Ford has a request relevant to the museum investigation.” Fraser straightened his lanyard, feeling like the bearer of bad news.

“See him in, please.”

“Inspector Thatcher, hello,” Ford debated on saying it was a pleasure to see her but it really wasn't so he didn't. He and Fraser laid out the plan that the FBI and Welsh had formed. She kept her piece until he was finished.

“And Fraser is going in as my bodyguard?” The lady Mountie frowned, she could see him playing that part, but still had her reservations about the whole thing. “I thought you and Detective Vecchio had interviewed this woman.” Meg pointed out.

“Yes, Ray pointed that out as well.” Fraser began. Ford cut him off before he could go into a long winded explanation.

“We'll put him in a dark business suit, a fake goatee and you'll open your own door.” Ford summed up quickly.

Meg studied Fraser's face for a moment wondering what he would look like if he weren't clean shaven. The idea kinda excited her.

“What is your exit strategy if things go sour?” Meg asked, her brows knit. She had a bad feeling about this.

“You and Constable Fraser will be armed, there will be two teams of agents nearby and the driver will be armed, you'll be wearing communication gear and Kevlar vests.” Ford answered.

 _“That's all well and good if they decided to aim for the torso.”_ Meg thought to herself.

“When is the exchange?” Meg asked, her head and her instincts warring with each other.

“Tomorrow morning at ten o'clock.” Ford answered. He'd had a team on Emily Charleston's phone line, waiting for the call.

“Alright, I'll help.” Meg agreed, feeling a knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

“Good, I'll need to see you at the precinct at eight.” Ford rubbed his palms together.

****

_**Seven forty-five the Next Morning …** _

Meg strolled into the twenty-seventh precinct early. She knew that Fraser had already gone inside, she'd been watching from a taxi down the street. He looked so handsome walking in with his red serge on, twirling his Stetson in his hands.

“Inspector Thatcher, good morning.” Fraser greeted her after she'd wormed her way through the bustle in the bull pen.

“Constable Fraser, hello.” Meg nodded, butterflies the size of kites flying around in her stomach.

“Come on in, Inspector, Constable.” Lieutenant Welsh called from his office door.

“Are you ready for this, Inspector Thatcher?” Agent Ford asked, sipping his coffee. He'd arrived early, knowing the Canadians would be even earlier.

“Yes, I am.” Meg answered resolutely, pushing her hands into her trench coat pockets.

“Okay, Constable Fraser, I have your gear right here.” Ford motioned toward a clothing bag hanging on the coat rack near the back of Welsh's office. Fraser raised his brows as if to say, 'Oh, really?'. Unzipping the bag, Fraser found a navy suit with a white dress shirt and a red tie.

“I'll be back momentarily.” Fraser took the garment bag and disappeared.

“Okay, Inspector Thatcher, let's get you rigged up for communication.” Ford pulled out the ear wig and handed it to her. Meg easily slipped it in and tested it.

Fraser returned, dressed in the suit. All eyes were on him. Ray whistled in surprise.

“Wow, Fraser, you look, ah, spiffy.” The detective grinned as he saw Meg's reaction from the corner of his eye. He saw her catch her breath.

“I feel ridiculous.” Fraser whined.

“You wear a bright red uniform everyday and you're complaining about a dark colored suit?” Ray shook his head. Welsh shook his head too, the pair bickered like an old, married couple some days.

“Well, I suppose one gets accustomed to the uniform.” Fraser commented, shrugging.

“Get your communication gear on, Constable Fraser, time is of the essence.” Thatcher urged, wishing she were at the consulate, safe and sound.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser nodded, pushing the ear bud into his ear and testing it.

“Good, let's go.” Agent Ford spread his arms to get the group going. Fraser, Thatcher, Ray, and the FBI agents all gathered, filing out of the bull pen.

****

_**Canary Sunday's Pawn Shop …** _

Two blocks from the shop the FBI agents set up, a dark van as their base of operations. The agents drank strong, black coffee and ate sausage biscuits as they set up the gear. A Lincoln town car waited behind the van, Meg in the back, Fraser and the FBI driver in the front.

“Fraser, while we're inside, remember, the name I'll be answering to will be 'Emily'.” Meg reminded him.

“Understood, Sir.” Fraser responded, catching her eye in the rear view mirror. He'd been adjusting the fake goatee the FBI had put on him since they'd finished. It felt itchy.

Meg watched him fuss with the fake goatee, it gave him a dark sex appeal that sent good shivers down her spine.

“Alright, it's ten minutes until ten, everyone in positions.” Agent Ford said loudly into the microphone. The driver edged out into traffic and slowly drove the two blocks to the pawn shop.

“We have visual on the pawn shop.” Ford sounded self important over the air. The driver parked in front of the pawn shop. With the bars and other shops closed until later there was ample parking.

“Roger.” Fraser responded, adjusting the ear piece.

After parking Fraser hopped out and opened Meg's door. She took a deep breath before getting out. Meg thought she saw a twinkle in the Mountie's eyes. She rolled her eyes, non-verbally reprimanding him.

Canary Sunday smiled when she saw the petite brunette walking toward the shop. Her fifty thousand dollars had just arrived.

“Hello, Ms. Charleston.” Canary greeted undercover Meg with a bright smile, her cleavage beginning to spill out of her low cut, floral top.

“Good morning, Ms. Sunday.” Meg greeted her, feigning politeness. Fraser looked on, his keen eyes surveying the whole scene.

“Do you have the Carmack gold nugget?” Meg asked, getting to the point quickly.

“Yes, let me get it.” Canary swayed her way through the door in the rear of the room. “Andrew, honey, bring the nugget.” The old call girl raised her voice. The former head of security walked out carrying the nugget in his palm. He took one look at Meg and a second look at Fraser and pulled a handgun from the back of his waist band.

“Damn it, Canary, these are the Mounties.” Andrew handed Canary the nugget holding the Canadians at gunpoint. The mob wife shuffled backward, toward the back room, her eyes as big as saucers.

“I didn't know.” Canary cried, her double chins quivering.

“You are under arrest, Ms. Sunday, Mr. Whitt.” Fraser stepped up, putting himself at an angle to shield Meg.

“I don't think so, Mountie.” Andrew flipped off the safety and hastily threw a shot out. Fraser gabbed Meg and dove to the floor. Canary Sunday screamed, diving behind the counter. Meg hit the cement floor hard, Fraser landing beside her. Andrew ran out the back door, dashing across the street and disappearing into foot traffic.

Fraser stood up, searching the pawn shop for Andrew, then turning his attention to a very pissed Inspector Thatcher.

“Sir, are you alright?” Fraser extended his hand to help her up. Meg sniffed, annoyed and got herself up off the floor. FBI agents came running in, Agent Ford in the lead. When Fraser saw Ford he bolted toward the back. Meg looked down at the floor, searching for her purse. She saw fresh blood on the cement.

“Oh dear, Fraser.” Fear seized Meg as she tore out after him. He had a head start and a considerably longer stride, it was tough to keep him in sight. She finally caught up to him, standing in the middle of the sidewalk, searching faces.

“Constable Fraser, you're bleeding, you've been shot.” Meg huffed and puffed, winded after running nearly a half mile in three inch block heels.

“Where, I have my vest on.” Fraser began examining himself.

“Here, Fraser.” Meg pulled on the left sleeve of his dark suit, there was a deep gash in his upper arm. Blood had dripped down his sleeve, soaking the back of his hand.

“Well, yes, so I have.” Fraser said it as though he had lint on his shoulder instead of a six inch gash oozing dark red blood.

“How did you not feel that?” Meg asked as she began digging in her purse.

“Adrenaline I suppose.” The Mountie began to feel the throbbing. All Meg could do was shake her head.

“Slip out of the suit jacket, I'll cut the shirt sleeve and use it to bind the wound.” Meg instructed.

“Yes, Sir.” He carefully slipped the coat off and held it in one hand. In the distance he saw Ray and two FBI agents running toward them.

“Fraser, you alright, Buddy?” Ray jogged across the street to his friend.

“I'm fine, Ray, thank you for asking.” Fraser winced a bit as Meg tied the shirt sleeve tightly around his bicep. She took the suit jacket from him and put it around his shoulders.

“What happened?” Agent Ford came up, his face red from running.

“The driver of the pick-up recognized Inspector Thatcher and myself.” Fraser answered simply.

“How did he do that?” Ray wondered aloud.

“I'm not certain, Ray.” Fraser's green eyes narrowed. The group began filing back toward the pawn shop. An ambulance had been called when the driver spotted the blood on the floor.

“You should get that looked at, Constable Fraser.” Meg insisted, worry creeping into her features. He heart had nearly stopped when she thought Fraser had been injured.

“I'll be alright, Inspector.” he waved her off.

“Consider it an order, Fraser.” Meg pressed, her tone harsher.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser submitted after a moment.

“For your own good, Fraser.” She squared herself up, going deep into 'Inspector Mode'. Fraser took a seat on the bumper of the ambulance and let an EMT clean and dress the wound.

“Ray, was the Carmack gold recovered?” Fraser stood up, his arm wrapped in white gauze from under his arm to his elbow nearly.

“Nope, but Canary Sunday is gonna sing like a bird to get out of this mess.” The detective grinned slyly.

“Well, that is something at least.” Fraser sighed, the pain beginning to take it's toll on him, but he'd never say so. After a gunshot wound to the lower back, a deep cut was nothing.

“Yes, perhaps Ms. Sunday will give us the location of the museum thieves.” Meg added, still wondering how the man had known her to be a Mountie.

“Hopefully, yes.” Fraser's mind drifted off, calculating, putting pieces together. He felt like he'd missed something, but couldn't figure out what- _ **yet**_ _._

****

 


	10. 10

 Chapter Ten

_**The Precinct …** _

“And who the hell had the bright idea of using the Mounties for this operation?” Agent Ford held the phone away from his ear as he listened to his superior officer ragged him out. The irate bureaucrat droned on about Ford's bad decisions and how his career was flowing down the toilet.

“Yes, Sir, I understand, Sir.” Ford heard the sound of the dial tone in his ear half way though. He hung up the cellular phone, slamming his fists against Lieutenant Welsh's desk.

“What's the matter, Agent Ford?” Welsh asked, already knowing the answer. He wouldn't have used the Mounties but Ford had insisted. Now his decision had come back to bite him in the ass.

“We have Canary Sunday and the buyers for the art. The only thing left is the Carmack gold nugget. Steele, from the Canadian Antiquities Bureau, is calling my superiors.” Ford growled, his beady eyes blazing.

“I'm sure Constable Fraser and the Inspector will put forth every effort to retrieve the gold.” Welsh assured him, standing up, his hands in his pockets.

 _“Yeah, and I'll never live it down.”_ Ford thought to himself. He just narrowed his eyes.

“Fraser is fine, by the way.” Welsh rubbed in as he opened the door.

****

_**Later, At The Consulate …** _

Turnbull had hot tea and fresh blueberry muffins ready when Meg and Fraser arrived at the consulate. Fraser had changed into his red serge, his left arm in a sling.

“I hope you didn't go to any trouble, Constable Turnbull.” Inspector Thatcher greeted him as he brought the tea and muffins into her office.

“Oh, no trouble, Inspector, I used my grandmother's recipe, I hope you'll enjoy them.” The junior Mountie smiled like a school boy, hoping for his favorite teacher's approval.

“Constable Fraser, how do you take your tea?” Turnbull asked, fussing with the sugar.

“I can do it myself, Turnbull, thank you kindly.” Fraser waved him off with his good hand.

“If you're certain, Constable.” Turnbull asked, hesitating, concerned.

“I'm fine, Turnbull, thank you.” Fraser insisted, wishing the phone would ring or someone would come through the front entrance. Turnbull nodded and went back to the consulate kitchen. Meg fixed her own tea, taking a muffin to her desk. Fraser took a few minutes, but managed his own tea. Silence lay between them.

“Constable Fraser, I, ah, when we were in Ms. Sunday's pawn shop, when the criminal identified us, you put yourself in harms way deliberately.” Meg tried to sound as professional as possible.

“Sir, I acted as I thought best in the situation.” Fraser set his tea down and stared at her innocently. Putting himself between Meg and the gunman had come as naturally to him as breathing.

“Yes, I know you did, but as your superior officer, I was the one in charge of the situation, stepping in the way you did undermined my authority.” Thatcher's tone was clear but not as cold as usual.

“Will this go in my record, Sir?” Fraser asked straightforward, his green eyes searching her face.

“No, a verbal reprimand should be enough. Next time I will have to put it in writing and take whatever course of action is necessary.” Meg put on her 'Inspector' persona.

“Understood, Sir.” Fraser nodded. He finished his tea and the remainder of his muffin.

“Constable Fraser,” Meg said as he rose to leave.

“Yes, Inspector?” He turned on his heel to meet her gaze. She seemed nervous, anxious.

“I also wanted to thank you, for considering my safety.” Meg released her held breath slowly. Fraser nodded, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“No thanks are necessary, Inspector.” Fraser spoke low.

Meg wondered if he shielded her out of duty or something else.

“Has Steele called about the Carmack nugget, Sir?” Fraser changed the subject, walking back toward her desk.

“Yes, I have to call him back this afternoon.” Meg pursed her red lips, annoyed.

“Best of luck, Sir.” Fraser wished her. He saw a wry smile pulling at her lips.

“Yes, Constable, I think I'll need it.” Meg watched him walk out the office door.

****

_**The Wrong Side of Chicago …** _

Andrew avoided his apartment, instead finding a room at a low rent flop house on one of the seedier streets in the Windy City. He ditched his truck in his brother's neighborhood and took a bus. He called Carlos, warning him that the Mounties had caught on to Canary Sunday and the plot to sell the stolen art.

“What are you going to do, Andrew, those Mounties won't give up.” Carlos sounded worried over the phone.

“I've got to think first.” Andrew racked his brain, trying to figure out the best way to use the video tape of the Mounties to his advantage. It was a gamble that they wouldn't take the consequences and hunt him down anyway. Still, Andrew had to try.

“Think fast, Andrew, my neck is on the line here too.” Carlos whined, his mildly accented voice rising with anger.

“Don't worry, I'll take care of it.” Andrew hung up the payphone abruptly, tried of the younger man's complaints. People hurried down the streets around him, on foot and in nice, warm vehicles. They all had cares and concerns, but the wanted thief felt the weight of the world sitting on his shoulders. How would he get the tape to the Mounties without getting caught himself? Home wasn't an option, his family's help was out of the question, and he couldn't very well walk into the Canadian Consulate himself. Walking down the broken cement sidewalk, busy citizens surrounding him, Andrew's mind spun like a tornado. His initial plan had gone so wrong.

“Coming through!” A bike messenger shouted as he peddled his way through the crowd. At first Andrew didn't hear him, his thoughts distracting him.

“Hey, dude, watch it!” The young man shouted louder, unable to stop. He slammed into Andrew, knocking both of them to the ground, the bike skating on down the sidewalk ahead of them. The former high school football player had taken some bone jarring tackles in his day but the bike messenger threw him for a loop unawares.

“What the hell, kid, have you got a death wish or something?” Andrew pulled himself together, his lip split and his knee aching from the impact with unforgiving cement.

“Sorry, I shouted but you had your head in the clouds, are you okay, Mister?” The messenger asked, repositioning the bag across his back, 'Windy City Messenger Service', emblazoned in red and bright green on the front flap.

“Yeah, I'm okay.” Andrew glared at him a minute, still pissed. Then an idea struck him almost as hard as the young biker had just moments before.

“How much do you charge for a delivery?”

The young man shrugged, adjusting his helmet. “Fifteen dollars a run, within a two mile radius of the office, why?”

“Oh, no reason, just thinking.” Andrew helped the young man back on his bike and sent him on his way.

“I'll get the kid to deliver a copy of the tape and a note.” The broad shouldered security guard smiled devilishly as he began planning his next move to get away with the money they'd already gotten from the art stolen. The only hitch was, getting the necessary elements of his plan. None of it worried him.

***

_**Two Weeks Later … The Consulate …** _

“Constable Fraser, has there been any progress on finding the shooter from the pawn shop?” Inspector Thatcher asked after knocking on his cramped office's door. She seemed lethargic, less fussy than usual. Fraser stood up quickly, knocking his desk chair over backward in the process.

“No, Sir, I'm afraid not, the FBI and Detective Vecchio are still following up on leads.” Fraser answered. He stooped down and set his chair up. Diefenbaker walked up to Meg, his nose sniffing her hand. He circled her, still sniffing.

“What is his problem?” Meg stepped back, away from the nosy wolf. He sat down at her side.

“I don't know, Sir, he hasn't given any indication of having a problem today.” Fraser answered.

“Then why is he sniffing me?” Meg said as she edged away from the fur ball. Dief just edged closer.

“Perhaps it's something you've eaten today or a new fabric softener.” Fraser suggested with a shrug.

“I haven't eaten in hours and I haven't changed anything.” Meg fussed, still edging toward the door.

“Then I'm afraid I don't know, I'm certain the reason will come apparent eventually.” The Inspector looked unconvinced.

“I hope so.” Meg turned on her heel and left. Dief trotted after her.

“Dief, come back, the Inspector is busy.” Fraser popped his head out the door. Dief kept going. The Mountie caught up to him. “Diefenbaker, the Inspector is busy, she doesn't want you in her office.” Fraser stepped through the door after Meg did. The wolf plopped his furry hind quarters on the carpet beside Meg's desk and turned his head away, ignoring Fraser.

“Leave him alone, Fraser, you're more annoying at the moment than the wolf.” Meg waved the Mountie away.

“Understood, Sir.” Fraser turned and left the room, casting a glance over his shoulder at her. Meg shook her head, a smile curling her lips.

Diefenbaker sat down on the carpet beside her desk and made himself comfortable. He wasn't talking to Fraser just yet, his nose hadn't told him the whole story yet.

****

_**The Next Morning …** _

Meg woke up at four o'clock, far earlier than her alarm was to go off. Her stomach had decided to turn itself up side down. The lady Mountie rolled out of her nice, big bed and headed for the bathroom down the hallway. She barely made it to the toilet in time.

A few minutes later Meg had emptied her stomach and moved to the sink. The woman she saw in the mirror was unrecognizable. Her cheeks were pale and her eyes looked weak.

“I shouldn't have had the shrimp cocktail last night.” Meg groaned as she washed her face in warm water.

When she didn't look any better, or feel any better by seven o'clock, she decided to call in and take a sick day, the first one she's taken in four years.

“Constable Turnbull, I won't be in to the consulate today.” Meg called, still nauseous.

“Yes, Inspector, I'll tell Constable Fraser.” Turnbull volunteered.

“Thank you, Turnbull.” Meg said in her most dry tone, wishing it weren't necessary for Fraser to be told.

“I hope you feel better, Inspector Thatcher.”

Meg rolled her eyes, the man was so corny. “I will, Turnbull, thank you.” She hung up, the need for the facilities striking her suddenly. It was going to be a long day.

*****

_**Ray's Desk the Next Day …** _

Three weeks after the museum robbery the FBI, Chicago PD and Constable Fraser had a time line of events. They also had two suspects in custody and one on the loose. Carlos Ramirez had been arrested after the FBI took Canary Sunday into custody. Like her name sake, she sang like a bird, spilling the names of the black market buyers and the thieves. Most of the stolen items had been recovered, all but the Carmack gold nugget. No one held out much hope that the nugget would be found intact.

Andrew Whitt had ran from the pawn shop and disappeared into the city. His truck was picked up three days later. He hadn't contacted his family, friends, nor his boss at the docks.

Ray held the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he studied the computer screen, looking at the records of the museum's current employees.

**

The blonde detective hadn't had his second cup of coffee yet but he had his plate full of things to do.

“No, I don't want to hold, I've been on hold for the last ten minutes you …” Ray groused as the lady at the museum put him on hold, _again._

“You Ray Vecchio?” A tall, skinny kid with a bicycle helmet asked, striding easily up to the desk.

“Yeah, what's it to ya?” Ray snapped before he looked up from the computer.

“I got a package for you here.” The kid tossed a manilla envelope on the desk with a thunk.

“Oh, sorry, it's been that kind of mornin', kid.” Ray leaned his roller chair back, the swivel grumbling beneath him.

“Sign here, please.” The kid handed him a clip board and a pen.

“Who's this from?” The detective asked, scribbling his pseudonym across the bottom of the slip.

“I don't know, I just figure out where they're going, not where they've been.” The kid answered, tightening his gloves before taking off towards the door.

Ray hung up the phone just as the curator, Mr. Schieffelin, answered. He pulled out an ink pen and slit the large envelope. A video cassette and a letter fell out.

“Okay, what have we here?” The detective read the hand written letter.

' _Drop the case or I'll drop copies of this off at every newspaper and television station in Chicago. Do it if you want your Mountie friend to keep on being a Mountie.'_

Ray looked around the bull pen, wondering who was watching. Quickly, he took the tape and found the first empty interrogation room. He shoved a straight back chair beneath the door handle and pulled the television nearer to the table in the center. Ray put the video in the cassette player and pushed play. What he saw next surprised him. It was Inspector Thatcher and Fraser doing things that Ray didn't know either of them knew how to do. The tape had started in the middle of the action. Five seconds in, Ray turned the television off and took the tape out.

“Yeah, I'm gonna have that permanently scarred on my retinas for the rest of my life.” He wiped his blue eyes as he shoved the television back into the corner and opened the door. “I gotta tell Benny about this, he's gonna be sideways.” Ray quickened his pace, grabbing his car keys, the envelope and his jacket.

Twenty minutes later, the GTO came to a feather light halt in front of the consulate. Overhead the clouds looked ominous and a cold wind kicked up. The weather forecast had called for freezing rain. Ray didn't doubt it was on the way.

Turnbull spotted the lanky detective first. He greeted him with his usual exuberance.

“I gotta find Fraser, is he in?” Ray asked, looking down the hall to the closet Fraser called an office.

“Yes, I believe he is, would you like me to get him for you, Detective?” Turnbull offered politely.

“Is Thatcher in her office today?” Ray asked, ignoring Turnbull's offer.

“Yes, she is, but now isn't a good time to disturb her.” Turnbull followed Ray as he began walking toward the Inspector's office.

“She in a meetin' er somethin'?” Ray stopped short.

“Ah, no, she's not feeling like herself this morning, that's all.” Turnbull answered, putting his hand on the door knob to stop Ray.

“I'll go get Fraser, you tell Inspector Thatcher she'll want to see what I got on the museum case.” Ray suggested, peeling off down the hall.

“Now isn't a good time, Detective, as I said earlier, she isn't feeling like herself.” Turnbull reiterated.

“Take my word for it, she's gonna want to see this.” Ray held up the cassette in the envelope. Turnbull took a deep breath and knocked on the Inspector's door.

Down the hall, Ray tapped on Fraser's door before walking in. The Mountie was busily typing away at his own report, only much faster and more accurately than Ray.

“Hey, Frase, I got this by messenger a little while ago, you're gonna want to see it.” Ray handed him the envelope before the Mountie could say a word. Fraser pulled the letter and tape out, reading the letter. His eyes widened and he went a shade paler, if possible.

“Have you watched the tape, Ray?” He stood up out of his desk chair, re-reading the letter.

“Yep, a minute or two anyway.” Ray leaned on the desk, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Does it contain the footage I think it does, Ray?” Worry pulled the Mountie's brows lower over his green eyes.

“Yep, sure does, Fraser.” The detective nodded emphatically, his own look of concern matching Fraser's.

“Have you told the Inspector yet?”

“Nope, figured we'd tell her together.” Ray stood up. He wasn't looking forward to having to tell the Ice Princess she had a sex tape flapping out in the breeze.

“Thank you, Ray.” Fraser slid the letter back into the envelope and began his trek down the hall, to his doom, he felt.

**

Meg had taken a deep breath to stem her nausea. She'd felt better yesterday afternoon but the sickness had returned bright and early this morning. She heard Fraser's knock and knew it was something bad.

“Enter!” Meg said, slipping her glasses into her top desk drawer. She seemed a bit paler and more reserved than usual, but Fraser kept his observation to himself.

“Inspector Thatcher, Ray just received this half an hour ago.” Benton handed her the envelope without explaining what it contained. With a frown, Meg dumped the contents onto her desk. She had a similar reaction to Fraser's. Dief raised his head off his paws, sensing that something was going on.

“Have you watched this?” She asked her subordinate officer and the American detective standing quietly in front of her desk.

“Just enough to get the gist of what's on it, yeah. I didn't see anything though, promise.” Ray tried unsuccessfully to make the Boy Scout's hand sign. Meg swallowed hard.

“I haven't viewed it, Sir.” Fraser answered. “Should I retrieve the television, Sir?” He asked, studying her reaction.

“Ah, no, that won't be necessary, Fraser.” Meg put her hand over her mouth, her stomach churning, the new source of stress not helping matters. “Please excuse me.” Meg shot up out of her chair and darted down the hall, past Fraser's office, to the bathroom.

“I didn't think she'd react like that.” Ray commented, picking up the letter.

“It does seem rather out of character for the Inspector.” Fraser said, walking to the door and peering down the hall after her.

“I guess I'd be sick too though if someone had something like this on me.” Ray shrugged, wishing he could get his friend out of this jam.

“Yes, I suppose so, Ray.” Fraser stepped back in the office, his mind racing. “This could very well be the coup de grace of mine and the Inspector's careers. There will undoubtedly be repercussions for lying about our whereabouts during the robbery. The defense attorneys for Carlos Ramirez and Canary Sunday won't let this go.” Fraser began running his tongue over his eyetooth thoughtfully.

“Yea, even though it wasn't your fault, you were slipped that wacky love drug.” Ray agreed, his jaw working in anger. It wasn't fair, but it would be almost impossible to win a case like this in court. Fraser and Inspector Thatcher would both be disgraced and the bad guys would get away with robbery.

Meg returned to her office, closing the door behind her and locking it. She felt a little better but her stomach still felt wrung out.

“Constable Fraser, Detective, we have to find Andrew Whitt, he has the original, if we find him and destroy it this will all be his word against ours.” Meg began pacing the space in front of her desk as her mind worked over time.

“Sir, Ms. Sunday, Carlos Ramirez and Andrew Whitt will all three testify, under oath, to seeing the contents of the video.” Fraser pointed out.

“Yes, but they lack credibility, they're thieves. Whitt and Ramirez were fired from the museum for stealing and Sunday is a prostitute.” Meg pointed out, stopping in front of him. Their gazes locked for a moment. Fraser raised his brows, he would follow her lead.

“We had better find Andrew Whitt before the FBI, if they get hold of the tape both of you can kiss the consulate good-bye, and the Mounties.” Ray commented, running his thumb along his jaw.

“I agree. Constable Fraser, you and the Detective find out who delivered the envelope, where he got this copied, everything.” Meg began forming a plan to capture Andrew Whitt and keep his mouth shut.

“And what are you going to do?” Ray piped up, deviling her just because he could.

“I have official business to attend to, Detective.” Meg answered coldly, her dark eyes boring into him. If looks could kill, Ray would have been shredded.

“Understood, Sir.” Fraser drew her attention back to the matter at hand. Turning, he called to Dief, who'd been watching the exchange at their feet. The wolf laid down on the carpet beside Meg and rolled onto his side. He wasn't going anywhere.

“Diefenbaker, I said let's go.” Fraser tried again. Dief rolled onto his back, refusing to budge.

“Oh, suit yourself, at least when they send up back to the territories you'll finally be broke from your junk food habit.” Fraser began walking out the office door. Dief got to his paws and shot out the doors ahead of him.

 _“Okay, okay, have it your way.”_ Dief groaned at him.

“I thought you'd see it my way.” The Mountie sounded so smug as he went to retrieve his Stetson and coat from his office.

**

Alone again at her desk, Meg let the tears she'd been hiding fall. This was too much. She hadn't been feeling well and now someone else knew her shame. It was bad enough that the American detective knew, now there was the possibility that all of Chicago, and with one phone call, her superiors, would find out. It would mean loss of the rank she'd fought tooth and nail for since she was a young woman. All the catty remarks, innuendos from male superiors, and down right rude statements about women in authority had made her tough. This would bring that wall down and make it that much harder for women to gain the recognition they deserved for their accomplishments in the Force. Meg felt like a traitor. She didn't want to go back to Ottawa disgraced. Fraser would be disgraced as well she knew, but not nearly as severely as she would. The double standard might as well have been a double edged sword thrust into her gut.

Meg buzzed Turnbull's desk and told him not to disturb her until further notice. Then she dialed her mother's number. It had been too long since she'd had a situation she needed her mother's advice for. This was too big for Meg to deal with alone.

“Hello, Mom, it's Meg, have you got a minute?” The lady Mountie sounded young and very scared over the phone.

“Of course, Baby, what's going on?” It would take longer than a minute to explain this predicament.

**** 


	11. 11

 Chapter Eleven

_**The CPD …..** _

Ray and Fraser combed the yellow pages of the phone book looking for the messenger service that had delivered the tape. The detective hadn't bothered to note the name of the messenger either.

“All I remember is red and bright green.” Ray flipped another page, wishing he'd paid more attention to the delivery guy.

“Did the young man's bag look like this? Fraser handed him the thick, heavy phone book.

“Yep, that's the one, Windy City Messenger Service, 801 Alderson Street, let's go.” Ray yanked the page out of the book and shoved his lanky self up out of his chair.

“Ray, why did you do that?” Fraser asked, collecting his Stetson and coat. The detective turned, shrugging.

“Do what, Fraser?”

“Tear that page out of the yellow pages, won't someone need that page later?” The pair went out of the bull pen, bickering about the yellow pages. No one paid them any mind.

***

_**Alderson Street …** _

Windy City Messenger Service sat along a busy row of business along the perimeter of downtown. It's red and bright green sign stood out like a sore thumb. Ray pulled the GTO up across the street and got out, his jacket tails flapping against his sides. Fraser caught up to him easily. They entered the moderately sized office, greeted by an average sort of gentleman with glasses.

“Hello, how can I help you?” A brass colored name tag identified the man as 'Norman, manager'.

“Good morning, Norman, we're here regarding a package delivered to the twenty-seventh precinct building earlier today.” The man blinked a few times, surprised at the Canadian standing before him.

“We'd like to know who sent it.” Ray leaned on the waist high counter. He'd already surveyed the slate gray walls and the messenger service's advertisements framed on the wall.

“That's privileged information, I'm afraid I can't help you.” Norman said without missing a beat.

“Doesn't mean I still don't want it.” Ray pulled his badge and laid it on the counter.

“Doesn't mean you're going to get it either, Detective Vecchio.” The manager said, crossing his arms over his chest, a smug expression on his jowly features.

“Fraser, go out to the car and get me the, the, ah, the, that thing.” The Mountie looked at him like he'd grown a second head.

“The, uh, ah, you'll see it when you get there, Fraser.” Ray waved him out of the office. Fraser took off toward the car, still confused. Ray turned to the manager, his blue eyes colder than an iceberg.

“I want the name of the guy who paid you to deliver a manilla envelope to the station or I'll get on the phone, have the cops look up everything there is to know about you, parking tickets, speeding tickets, warrants, maybe put a boot on your car, I can make your life miserable, I got nothin' better to do, Buster, do we understand each other here?” Ray turned nasty on the guy.

“All I know about him is his name was Whitt, he came in here last night, said he wanted it delivered this morning, first thing, he paid in cash, said he had enough money to send the package or get a taxi from Johnson street.” Norman didn't look so smug anymore. His beady eyes begged Ray not to retaliate.

“Did he say anything else?” Ray pushed, hoping that Fraser didn't get back before he got the info out of Norman that they needed.

“No, but one of my delivery riders said he'd run into him earlier over on State Street.” Norman was more than willing to help in any way he could. It would be worth it not to have to a yellow boot put on his car.

“Ah, now see, was that so hard?” Ray grinned like a kid with a new toy. Norman simply glared at him.

“Have a nice day.” Ray waved as he turned and walked out of the delivery service.

Fraser was rummaging through the glove compartment when Ray arrived at the GTO. The detective opened the door and got inside.

“I'm still trying to find what it is you were asking for, Ray.” Fraser frowned.

“Never mind, Frase, I left it at the house anyway.” The detective shrugged, pushing the key into the ignition and starting the car.

“Oh, okay.” The Mountie shut the passenger door and nodded contentedly. “Did you find out anything from Norman?”

“Norman who?” Ray asked, checking his rear view mirror to pull into the stream of traffic.

“The manager of Windy City Messenger Service, Ray.” Fraser answered. The morning sun made him squint as they headed east.

“Yeah, Whitt is staying on Johnson Street somewhere and he's still got the Carmack gold nugget.”

“How do you know that, Ray?” Fraser turned to look at the detective.

“Because, Fraser, he only had enough money to send the package. If he'd sold the gold he'd have plenty of money, am I right?” Ray reasoned.

“Yes, you are correct, Ray.” Fraser nodded.

****

_**Johnson Street ….** _

Buildings are like people, with time, love and money they are maintained. Some of them require face lifts, others age gracefully, and then there are the ones that need to have a bag placed over their facades to spare the world the pain of looking at them. The Johnson Street Arms was one of the former kind of buildings. The brick was crumbling and the windows were covered in clear plastic in places. The century old building was in a sorry state of being. It had been built in a once fashionable style, built with red bricks half way up and sandstone to the top. It didn't know if it wanted to be traditional brick or edgy sandstone and the large, shuttered windows looked impassive and sad. Still, for thirty dollars per night, it was a place to get in out of the weather.

Andrew Whitt had been staying there for a little over two weeks, eating through his stash of money for groceries, the hotel bill and transportation. The former football player stayed out and about as much as possible, trying to find a way to get the Carmack gold nugget melted down and sold without drawing attention to himself. He had a guy lined up who could get him a new identity and a list of countries without an extradition treaty with the United States. All he had to do was get the gold sold. Andrew planned on turning over the tape of the Mounties if things went sour. Things were beginning to get a little too lemony to suit him.

**

Ray and Fraser parked at one end of the street and began knocking on doors with Andrew Whitt's driver's license picture in one hand and Ray's badge in the other.

“Good morning, we're looking for Andrew Whitt, have you seen him?” Fraser asked at the front desk of the adult video store at the corner. The clerk looked at the driver's license picture for a moment then shook his head.

“Nope, sorry fellas.” He answered with a shrug.

“Thank you kindly, Sir.” Fraser nodded as he and Ray turned to leave the establishment.

“It's gonna be a long day, isn't it, Fraser?” Ray commented, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Yes, Ray, it likely is.” The Mountie agreed.

**

Seven businesses and clerks later, the pair struck pay dirt. The clerk, a black woman that both officers had to crane to see her face. The gold tag on her navy blouse read 'Raashida'.

“Yeah, honey, I saw this guy earlier this morning, he's staying up in two-thirteen.” She hitched her thumb up the stairs in the center of the lobby.

“Thank you kindly, Ma'am.” Fraser tipped his hat to the towering attendant.

“Do you know if he's in or not?” Ray asked feeling like a small boy again momentarily.

“I haven't seen him come down.” Raashida shrugged, looked down at the odd pair.

“Thanks, come on, Fraser.” Ray took off at a trot toward the stairs.

“Hey, what kind of cop are you?” Raashida called as Fraser followed Ray toward the stairs.

“I'm a constable with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, otherwise known as a Mountie, Ma'am.” Fraser turned to answer.

“Oh, that explains the uniform then, good luck, Constable.” The attendant wished him with a brilliant, white smile.

“Thank you.” Fraser returned the smile and took off toward the stairs.

Ray put his badge where it was clearly visible. Fraser didn't have to identify himself, his red serge spoke loud, bright volumes for him.

“Andrew Whitt, this is Chicago Police, you in there?” Ray shouted after banging on the door. They heard someone moving around inside and then silence.

“Fire escape.” Ray surmised, turning the knob on the door. Locked. He then took his booted foot and kicked it off the hinges. Fraser rushed inside, searching the small, musty smelling space. White curtains on the only window fluttered, a breeze coming in giving the room a well needed airing out, if only temporarily. The Mountie crossed the room and went out the window onto the fire escape. Ray rushed back down stairs and started around the building. Andrew Whitt had taken off around the building, Fraser hot on his heels. Traffic rushed down the street on the back side of the hotel, buses, cars, delivery trucks and a cement truck. Andrew Whitt turned to look back at Fraser just as Ray raced toward him from the opposite side. Seeing two officers, the former football player streaked off to his right, directly into the path of the loaded cement truck. Trying to stop ten tons of churning cement loaded onto a wheeled vehicle isn't easy, even if there is adequate time and forewarning. Andrew Whitt never had the chance of an ice cube in Hell of making it. The cement truck stuttered and squealed to a halt, Whitt's body dragging in the process.

“Damn!” Ray cursed, turning away from the gruesome scene in the middle of the street.

“I'll go call the station, Ray.” Fraser volunteered. Now he'd never find out if there was a second or more copies of the museum tape.

“Yeah, I'll take care of things here.” The detective rubbed his hands over his face, as if trying to wipe away the tragedy.

_**Twenty minutes later ….** _

Patrol cars and the coroner had arrived when Fraser got back to the accident scene. Ray was standing on the sidewalk talking to Lieutenant Welsh when the Mountie found him.

“Hello, Lieutenant Welsh.” Fraser greeted him, solemn faced.

“Constable Fraser, Ray here was just telling me the gist of the situation, I'd like to hear your version later.” The ranking officer informed him.

“Understood, Sir.” Fraser stood at parade rest for a moment. Welsh turned his attentions to the ME walking up to the unfortunate Andrew Whitt.

“Did you go through Whitt's room yet?” Ray whispered, hiding behind a cup of coffee.

“Yes, Ray, I did.” Fraser answered, also whispering.

“Did you find the thing we came for?”

“Yes, I did, Ray.”

“Where is it?” Ray turned to look at his friend, his cool blue eyes wide. Fraser looked up at the brim of his Stetson in answer. It took a moment for Ray to catch on, when he did he smiled like a kid who had just helped himself to the entire cookie jar.

“What about the gold?” Ray asked, his gaze narrowing.

“No sign of it I'm afraid.” Fraser answered, smoothing his eyebrow with his thumb nail.

“We'll find it, don't worry, Fraser, you and the Inspector will be back in the red in no time.” Ray assured him.

“I'm already wearing red, Ray, why would I need to be back in a color I'm already wearing?” The Mountie asked, confused.

“I meant we'll find this gold nugget and everything will be okay, that's what I meant, Fraser.” Ray broke it down.

“Ah, I see, Ray.” Fraser nodded, understanding filling his handsome features.

“You see what, Constable Fraser?” Meg's voice broke the noise surrounding the scene.

“Inspector, Ray was just explaining one of his metaphors for me.” Fraser drew himself up to attention.

“What's going on here, Constable, I received a call from Lieutenant Welsh that you had encountered the other suspect in the museum robbery.” Inspector Thatcher came to the point of the matter, her dark eyes serious and her tone sharper than a razor.

“Yes, Inspector, we had, while trying to question Mr. Whitt, he decided to run, we pursued him and while distracted, Mr. Whitt ran out in front of a cement truck. He was pronounced dead shortly thereafter.” Fraser summarized quickly.

Meg stepped up closer to Fraser, her eyes pleading. “Did you find the tape?” She whispered.

“I did, Sir, yes.” Fraser looked up to the brim of his hat to tell her that's where he'd put it.

“Were there copies?” Meg asked, still concerned.

“I'm not certain, Sir, there weren't any that I could find.” Fraser answered gravely. Whitt could have sent them to friends to use in the event of his death, no one knew.

“What about the Carmack gold nugget, Fraser?” Meg stepped back, her voice rising to it's usual level.

“Still missing I'm afraid.” Fraser answered, his face a neutral mask. Meg seemed relieved but still a bit apprehensive.

“I wanted Andrew Whitt caught, but I didn't wish him dead.” Meg lamented quietly, a troubled frown on her face. Fraser resisted the urge to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Neither did I, Sir.” Fraser agreed with her.

**

Ray and Welsh searched Whitt's room thoroughly, turning over the box springs and mattress, emptying the dresser drawers and taking them out. Nothing was left unopened or investigated.

“Well, he didn't have that gold on him and he didn't have time to stash it anywhere.” Ray sat down on the window sill. Fraser and Inspector Thatcher stood near the door, watching as the CPD worked.

“Mr. Whitt didn't have a significant amount of money on his person either, he must have hidden it somewhere.” Fraser volunteered. He began looking around the room for places that hadn't yet been searched. His keen eyes zoomed in on the bedside table. The felt on the bottom of the lamp was off center. The Mountie crossed the room without a word and turned the maroon and gold accented lamp up side down. He shook it near his ear, all eyes on him. A distinct rattle against the hollow, ceramic base told everyone that there was more than an electric cord in there. Quickly, Fraser unscrewed the cast iron base and out dropped the Carmack gold nugget. Meg's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

“Excellent work, Constable Fraser.” Lieutenant Welsh gave him a hearty slap on the back. Ray saw him wince. The gunshot wound was still raw feeling.

“Only you, Frase.” Ray praised him.

“Yes, Constable Fraser, congratulations.” Inspector Thatcher nodded, coming to see the nugget for herself.

“Alright everyone, get this place under wraps and get back to the precinct.” Lieutenant Welsh raised his voice to the uniformed officers helping with the search.

“Let's get this back to the consulate, shall we.” Meg took the nugget from Fraser. It was heavier than it appeared. She quickly handed it back to him.

“Yes, Inspector,” Fraser answered before turning to Ray, “ I'll see you later this evening remember, we're supposed to watch the hockey game.” The Mountie reminded his American friend.

“Yeah, sure, the pizza's on you tonight.” Ray reminded him. Fraser waved before following Meg out the hotel room door.

“Fraser, I'll need your statement in writing.” Lieutenant Welsh called after the Canadians.

“Understood, Lieutenant.” The Mountie popped his head back in the door.

Outside Meg hailed a cab for them. She was silent, still wondering if Whitt had copied the tape more than once.

“Inspector, what do you propose we do with the tape?” Fraser fished the tape out of his Stetson, handing it to her.

“Burn it, Fraser, burn it quickly.” She took the tape and put it in her coat pocket.

“I agree, Inspector.” Ben said, a cab pulling up to them.

*******

_**Three Days Later …** _

Ray was put on desk duty until Whitt's accident could be fully investigated. Fraser too was given strict orders to stay out of trouble. That was fine with him, he was avoiding Francesca. She had made it her personal mission to find out if he and the Inspector had slept together, not that it was any of her business. Dief was glad to be at the consulate for a while. Fraser was entirely too frisky to suit the wolf some days.

A few days later though, Fraser had to go to the precinct. Welsh and Agent Ford had questions, hard questions to answer. Things like, 'How did you find out Whitt was staying on Johnson Street?'.

“Constable Fraser, the detective has given us his statement of events, we just need to verify them.” Welsh put Ray's typed statement in front of Fraser. Quickly, but carefully, the Mountie read the report. Ray wrote that he had a hunch that Whitt was staying in one of the cheap hotels in the city and that he and Fraser had simply been canvasing the neighborhood when they found the suspect. Ben hated lying worse than anything, but it was necessary in this instance, not for his sake, but to protect Meg. He felt he'd already compromised her, in more than one fashion.

“Ray's report is in order, Sir.” Fraser handed it back to Welsh. Very little of his report was the truth. The older officer looked at him skeptically, but kept his questions to himself.

“I'm headed back to DC, the museum's artwork was recovered to our satisfaction, the Canadians have the Carmack gold nugget back and there's two suspects to try for the crime, all's well that ends well.” Agent Ford shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Have a good trip, Agent Ford.” Lieutenant Welsh wished him as the younger man took his leave of the Chicago PD.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Ford gave a mock salute as he closed the door behind himself. Welsh sat up at his desk, pointing to the chair across from him for Fraser to sit down.

“Constable, we've worked several cases haven't we?” The older officer began.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser responded, wondering where this was leading.

“We have a solid, work relationship I believe.” Again Fraser answered yes.

“Now, I believe I know you well enough to know when you're being deceptive, or trying to anyway. I also know Ray well enough to know he doesn't get hunches like this.” Welsh's dark eyes studied the Canadian. If it had been anyone else they would have been squirming under his gaze.

“Constable, I don't know why you're going along with Ray's report, that's your decision, all I want to know is if this is going to come back and bite this precinct in the keister.” Welsh leaned forward, his fist on Ray's report on his desk.

“No, Lieutenant, I wouldn't put this case in jeopardy, I assure you.” Fraser smoothed his brow with his thumb nail.

“Good, because I would hate to have to split such a team as you and Ray up.” Welsh leaned back, his meaning crystal clear.

“Understood, Sir.” Fraser rose to take his leave of the officer.

“Have a good day, Constable.” Welsh wished him as he reached the door.

“You as well, Lieutenant Welsh.” Fraser nodded, relieved to be leaving his office. Dief was standing outside the lieutenant's office, waiting for word of the proceedings. The Mountie walked toward Ray's desk. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a sky blue blur headed his way.

“Fraser, is it true you and the Inspector, you know?” Frannie met him at the end of the desk, her brown eyes narrowed as she stood, feet planted, before him.

“I'm afraid I don't know, Francesca.” Fraser answered innocently, although he could accurately guess what.

“The two of you did the horizontal bop, got intimate, you know.” She stressed the later. “I've known you as long as anyone here, Fraser, yet you tell me nothing. Haven't I always been a friend to you, haven't I helped you in any way possible?” The Civilian Aide charged him, her manicured finger jabbing him in the chest, pushing him backward, into the heavy desk.

“Yes, Francesca, you have always done your utmost to assist me in any situation, as friends do, but certain confidences are more comfortably shared with male friends rather than female friends.” Fraser tried not to become flustered. Talking about his love life, such as it was, wasn't something he relished even with someone as worldly as Ray and certainly not with Francesca, whom he considered someone he was bound to protect.

“That's bologna and you know it, Fraser, who better to help you with matters of the heart than a woman?” Frannie charged back, her voice shrill.

“Frannie, back off, okay, it ain't none of your business.” Ray interceded.

“This is between me and Fraser, Ray.” Frannie glared up at him. The two were even more of an oil and water combination than Frannie and her brother had been.

“Yeah, and he told you he don't want to talk about it with you, okay.” Ray persisted. The detective knew this was hard enough for his friend without Frannie sticking her nose in it.

“I'll remember this the next time you need something.” The Italian descendant pointed from one to the other of them. She then stalked away, pissed to the brim with the both of them.

Fraser watched her walk away, shaking his head. Frannie had blind sided him, accusing him of not being as much a friend to her has she was to him.

“Wow, and she wonders why she's still single.” Ray commented, shaking his head.

“She has a point, Ray, Francesca has always been a trusted friend.” The Mountie sighed.

“Ah, don't worry about it, buddy, you just can't tell women friends the same things you can tell guy friends.” Ray shrugged, taking a seat at his desk. Still, Fraser felt bad that Francesca felt betrayed.

****

 


	12. 12

 Chapter Twelve

_**A Few Weeks Later …** _

_**Five-thirty in the Morning …** _

For the fourth morning of the week, Meg had woken up before her alarm clock, her stomach turning inside out. She had called in the first morning, thinking it was a stomach flu she'd picked up somewhere. Since the museum robbery, her life had become _more_ stressful, if imaginable. She had her normal duties to attend to, the extra paper work caused by Fraser and his hero complex, the museum curator breathing down her neck, the American authorities, as well as the pressure from her superiors in Ottawa. Meg had worked late every night and arrived early every morning. The work never seemed to end.

**

At the consulate, Turnbull had made apple turnovers and hot chocolate for everyone, trying to please his superiors. The strong scent of cinnamon made Meg's stomach heave as the junior Mountie offered her a turnover before she could walk through the door.

“No, thank you, Turnbull, I'm not feeling well this morning.” Inspector Thatcher pinched her nose and took off quickly for her office and her handy trash can.

“Is there anything I can get you, Inspector?” Turnbull asked, poking his head in the door. She had her head over the trash, her back to him.

“Oh my,” Turnbull pulled back, rushing to the end of the hall, calling Fraser's name.

“Turnbull, what's wrong?” Fraser thought the younger officer was going to hyperventilate.

“It's the Inspector, she's sick in her office, again.” Fraser's green eyes widened in alarm. Again, Meg was sick, again. He'd noticed a change in her, but couldn't put his finger on why, what with all the paperwork, meetings and normal duties.

“Fetch her a glass of water please, then go to the corner store and find some saltine crackers.” Fraser sent Turnbull running. Benton made his way to Inspector Thatcher's office. By the time he arrived she had sat down on the couch and had mostly collected herself.

“Inspector Thatcher, are you ill?” Fraser strode into the room, his concern printed across his face.

“I'm fine, Constable Fraser, it's simply a stomach flu, I should have called in sick.” Meg tried to stand up to get to her desk but a wave of nausea decided otherwise. She turned around toward the trash can and ran into Fraser. He grabbed the can and handed it to her as he guided her downward to the couch.

“How many days have you felt ill so far?” Fraser began, knowing the answer before she did.

“Four, why?” Meg answered. Turnbull came in with the water and handed it to Fraser.

“I'll get saltine crackers and be back post haste.” Turnbull rushed out of the room.

“Why do you ask, Fraser, and why did you send Turnbull for crackers, it's seven in the morning.” Meg brushed back a dark strand of hair.

“Have you had breakfast this morning, Inspector Thatcher?” The Mountie avoided the question.

“Yes, I had oatmeal, I always eat breakfast, Fraser, what is this about?” He could tell he was beginning to anger her but pushed ahead anyway.

“You felt ill a few days last week as well, didn't you?” Meg stopped to think, she had been feeling sick for the last few weeks, off and on.

“What are you trying to say, Fraser, spit it out.” She winced at her bad pun.

“Have you had your menstrual cycle since,” Fraser faltered, his face reddening to match his uniform, “since the museum theft?” He searched Meg's face for understanding. She seemed to freeze in place, her mind working double time.

“Oh my, no, I haven't. Do you think, oh, Fraser, I could be pregnant.” The room felt like all the air had been sucked out of it. Everything was beginning to add up, the mood swings, change in tastes, now her mourning routine of sickness.

“It is one explanation, stress is another, Inspector Thatcher. This may simply be a side effect of the added pressure of late.” He tried to sound positive and reassuring.

“I live on stress like most people live on oxygen, Fraser, I think I'm expecting a child.” Meg laid her hand on her flat stomach, wondering if it were even possible. She felt so unprepared. Meg had wanted to be a mother, but not like this, not without security and permanence. Fraser squatted down in front of her and took both her hands in his.

“You should make an appointment with your doctor, as soon as possible.” He said gently, her gaze rising to meet his. Meg felt so lost at sea but she could see him shining through the fog.

“I will, Fraser, I'll call today.” Meg straightened up, nodding resolutely. She had to know if this was stress or a child. Torn between hope and uncertainty, Meg tried to school her features. She would do the best she could and pray for the outcome.

“Would you like me to accompany you to the doctor?” Fraser offered, not really relishing the idea of going to an obstetrician/ gynecologist’s office.

“No, Fraser, I'd rather go alone, it's probably just stress.” Meg pulled her hands free of his and stood up to go to her desk. There was more than enough paperwork to keep her mind busy.

“As you wish.” Fraser stood up, his spine straight and his tone even. Meg knew she'd pushed him away when he was simply offering to do the right thing by her. She felt crummy for it.

“Fraser, thank you.” She said just before he got to the door, her eyes pleading with him to understand and forgive her.

“You're welcome, allow me to help in any way I can.” Fraser nodded as he opened the door. Turnbull stood just on the verge of knocking.

“I have saltines as well as unsalted crackers, I wasn't certain which would be the best so I bought both.” Turnbull held out three different kinds of crackers as he walked through the Inspector's door. Fraser nodded and made his escape.

“You should do what's right by her, Son, you've got to marry her, you've got to give that child a father.” Bob Fraser stood on the other side of the door, his winter furs on and his snow shoes.

“Dad, don't jump to conclusions, the Inspector may simply have a stomach flu, nothing more.” Benton hissed at his ghost father as he headed down the hallway.

“I knew a month before your mother did when she was expecting you, she had that same lovely glow about her.” The old man's blue eyes took on a wistful cast, his voice soft.

“Dad.” Benton groused as they entered the small office he called home.

“I'd lay odds the Inspector is having your child, I can just tell these things.” Bob Fraser went to the window, his hands behind his back as he stood looking out at the snow.

“Good heavens, Dad, you're dead, you can't tell if she's pregnant of having indigestion.” Benton fumed.

“Mark my words, Son, you're finally going to become a father. You should be preparing for that day, not quarreling with me.” Bob Fraser turned, his blue eyes bright against his wrinkled brows. Benton shook his head and ignored the old man. He knew his father was right, but being ordered around from the grave chaffed him.

*****

_**The Doctor's Office …** _

Meg had made an appointment with her general practitioner. She left the consulate a bit early to be alone with her thoughts as she took a taxi downtown. The car passed by shops, hotels and advertisements but the lady Mountie saw none of them. All she saw was Fraser's face the day before when she'd realized the reason she'd been getting sick and feeling tired for the last month. He'd seemed concerned mostly. Things like; _'Does he want this child?'_ and _'What happens between us next?'_ filled her brain.

“Okay, Lady, that'll be fifteen bucks and seven cents.” The cabbie had pulled into a curb parking spot and sat waiting for her to pay him. Meg dug out the fare from her purse and handed it over, tipping him two dollars.

Meg exited the car, a cool wind hitting her in the face. She stood before the Chicago Medical Clinic, a shiny, bronze and glass building. Doctor Justine Botner was on the fourth floor. As Meg took the door handle she heard someone call her name.

“Inspector Thatcher, a moment please?” Fraser jogged across the street, Diefenbaker on his heels.

“Yes, Constable Fraser?” Meg pursed her lips. She hadn't told him her appointment time or where her doctor's office was located.

“Sir, I know you said you wished to go alone, but I felt I should at least provide moral support.” He stopped in front of her, his gaze searching her face.

“Thank you, Fraser, is there anything else?” Meg sounded tired. She'd slept the night through but it didn't feel like it.

“Yes, Inspector, call me Benton,” He began to search for his words, “when the timing is appropriate of course.” Meg watched him almost squirm.

“If this is what we think it is, I will.” She laid one hand on her flat stomach, wondering if she would ever feel comfortable calling him anything less formal than 'Fraser'.

“Yes, ah, Inspector.” Fraser wondered if he could breech protocol and call her 'Meg', but thought better of it. She'd been avoiding him and being especially quiet lately.

“When I find out which way this goes, you can call me by name as well.” Meg conceded.

“Good luck, Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser wished her with a polite smile. Dief sat where he'd taken up position at Meg's feet. The wolf had been unusually friendly with the Inspector since the museum robbery, checking on her throughout the day.

“Dief, come on.” Fraser had taken a few steps away but the wolf hadn't moved. Dief looked up at him confused.

 _“What, you aren't going with her?”_ The wolf looked back at Meg, expecting Fraser to follow her lead.

“He knows, doesn't he.” Meg said, watching the two of them.

“Yes, I believe so. Dief's sensitive olfactory senses detect the change in your hormones associated with pregnancy.” Fraser explained, his hands moving as he spoke.

“Okay, Fraser, if you say so.” Meg shook her head, unconvinced. “Is he going into the exam room with me or are you going to take him with you?” She didn't really want to explain why a deaf, half wolf was sitting in the exam room when Dr. Botner walked in.

“I'm afraid he's intent on following you, I'll have to keep him in the waiting room.” Fraser shrugged. He and Diefenbaker had had this conversation before and the wolf was infinitely stubborn.

“Deal with you, deal with your wolf?” Meg sighed, ready to be off her feet already.

“That seems to be the way it works, yes.” Fraser nodded.

“Come on up.” Meg lead the way, Dief trotting along side her like a puppy. Fraser brought up the rear.

**

Dr. Justine Botner bounced into the office, her long silky hair swinging as she carried Meg's chart into the small exam room. Meg liked her for her warm bedside manner and down to earth personality.

“Hello, Margaret, what's up today?” Dr. Botner asked as she sat down on the backless, round, swivel chair. When she laid eyes on Dief, she popped back up. “Who have we here?” Dr. Botner slammed back against the door.

“My apologies, Dr. Botner, this is Diefenbaker, he thinks I need protection.” Meg slid off the table and took the wolf by the collar. “He's deaf, so you'll have to enunciate.” The Inspector went on, wishing Fraser had hauled him back to the consulate.

“I've seen a lot of things over the years, but never a wolf in my exam room.” Dr. Botner began to relax when Dief laid down.

“Constable Fraser couldn't persuade him not to follow me in here.” Meg rolled her eyes and took her seat again.

“Uh, why _are_ you here, Margaret?” Dr. Botner got back to the purpose of the visit.

“Lately I've been waking up sick at my stomach, I feel tired all the time and I'm craving raisins, among other things.” Meg answered as Dr. Botner began taking her vitals.

“What do you think it is?” Dr. Botner charted her findings, her boisterous voice filling the small space. She had ink stains on her white coat's pocket and an ink pen stuck in her pony tail.

“I believe I'm pregnant, Dr. Botner.” Meg sighed, the realization sinking in with certainty.

“I take it you've been sexually active in the last little bit then.” Botner took her seat again, her foot propped up on her knee as she listened to Meg talk.

“Yes, the night of the museum robbery, Constable Fraser and I were slipped something. I remember kissing him, us landing on a leather couch together.” Meg blushed relating her fuzzy memory. “We both woke up undressed the next morning.” The Inspector swallowed hard to remain calm. She felt vulnerable sitting in the cold exam room telling Dr. Botner her most private experiences. Dief laid his head up on Meg's knee as she sat on the table.

“Well, it looks like you've got a new best friend here.” Dr. Botner couldn't resist running her fingers through Dief's fur.

“Constable Fraser says he can detect a difference in my hormones, I think he's just a pest.” Dief groaned in annoyance and resumed his place on the tile floor. Dr. Botner laughed.

“Well, let's get a few tests before you go and I'll give you a referral to Dr. Howard on the fifth floor, she'll take good care of you if the test results are positive. How's that sound?” Dr. Botner's round face beamed, her long fingered hand patting Meg on the knee reassuringly.

“Thank you, Dr. Botner.” Meg felt better. The good doctor had that effect on people, she helped them with their problems and listened to them with interest. It wasn't the first time she'd heard Meg mention Constable Fraser. The Mountie came up in nearly every conversation. From the way Thatcher acted, he must be quite something.

**

Fraser sat in the receptionists' office surrounded by nurses, all of them sitting in rapt attention as he showed them how the Inuit dressed wounds caused by bear claws.

“Fraser,” Meg was ready to leave. She'd been poked and prodded, she didn't feel like being nice.

“Inspector Thatcher.” The Mountie stood at attention, dropping his ace bandage into the nearest nurse's hands.

“Good-bye, Constable Fraser, come back any time.” A curvy blonde waved, her nails long and red.

“Miss Daphne, ladies.” He tipped his Stetson as he let himself out of the office to follow Meg. She wanted out of that office, and the quicker the better.

On the street, Meg hailed a taxi and waited as Fraser hauled Diefenbaker into the back seat.

“I should know something in a few days.” Meg started after telling the cabbie where to take them. Fraser said nothing, watching her intently for a moment. His green eyes noticed the way she seemed tired and the faintest of crinkles beginning around her eyes from squinting too much.

“What, Fraser, spit it out.” Meg turned to him, her voice as sharp as a razor.

“If you are expecting, what are your plans for the child?” He continued studying her, trying to determine if she wanted this child or not. Meg turned on him, horrified at the scope of his question.

“I want to keep it, Fraser, of course. I may not have planned for this but I certainly plan on taking responsibility for this child.” She laid a protective hand on her stomach, her voice shrill.

“It wasn't my intention to alarm you, Inspector, I am however aware of the number of options available to women with an unwanted child. Adoption is one of those options.” Fraser's intense gaze only served to alarm Meg more.

“What do you want to do, Fraser, this is as much your child as it is mine.” Meg began, holding her breath for the answer.

“I want to be part of my child's life as much as humanly possible, like you, I wish to take responsibility, regardless of how it came to be.” Fraser's eyes smiled. He was secretly eager to become a father.

“You've been detached about the whole matter since the museum. I had begun to think you were going to transfer to another American posting, or possibly one back home.” Her words reflected Meg's own thought process. She'd thought about going back to Ottawa, back to a place and time before she saw Fraser everyday. He was so close and yet so far away. It was unbearable, especially since what had happened in the last office on the left. He'd kissed her, whispering her name as they'd satiated their passions.

“Judging by your response to what happened on the train, I thought you would prefer my silence on the matter.” Fraser answered, remembering well her orders never to mention the subject.

“All out.” The cab driver said as he pulled the Gemini taxi along the curb outside the consulate. Both Mounties began digging for fare.

“I'll get this.” Meg began, holding out her money.

“No, I insist, allow me.” Fraser said as he pulled a folded bill out of the inside of his Stetson.

“No, Fraser,” Meg's tone rose.

The driver sighed. “Go Dutch, how's that work for ya?” The driver threw up his hands. These Canadians were too nice for their own good.

“Dutch?” Meg asked, her expression telling him to agree. Fraser nodded wisely.

Fraser and Inspector Thatcher exited the car, Dief following closely. Meg felt out of her depth, the investigation and her personal life intersecting.

“Inspector, I don't wish to cause undue stress or awkwardness between us.” Fraser held the door for her, his hat in his hand.

“I know, Fraser.” The Inspector agreed. They were in a predicament that neither of them had faced before.

“Good afternoon, Inspector Thatcher, Constable Fraser.” Turnbull greeted them cheerfully only to get an icy stare from the Inspector and a distracted expression from Fraser.

“Have there been any calls, Constable Turnbull?” Inspector Thatcher asked, hanging her jacket on the coat rack.

“Yes, the museum curator called twenty minutes ago, he said that if you didn't call him back in twenty minutes he would be here to talk to you face to face. He seemed upset.” Turnbull gave her the message.

“Thank you, Constable Turnbull.” Meg started to take a step toward her office but the room began spinning. The next thing she knew, Fraser had swept her up in his arms and was carrying her through her office doors. He was saying something to Turnbull but she couldn't make it out. She felt the coarse material of his red serge against her cheek and the buttons down his chest. Meg began to move and Fraser looked down at her, their eyes meeting. He smiled, letting her know that everything was just fine.

“Fraser, what's going on?” Meg asked as he laid her down gently on the couch.

“You fainted, Inspector, thankfully, I was standing nearby to catch you.” Fraser knelt down on the carpet beside her, taking her pulse with his right hand and timing it on his RCMP watch.

“Oh, I didn't even realize I felt faint, everything just went dark.” Meg took a deep breath, trying to clear the fog.

“Turnbull is in the kitchen now, getting you something to eat.” Satisfied that her pulse was steady and that a meal would do the job, Fraser stood up to leave.

“Fraser, I'll have to tell Turnbull the truth, he'll become suspicious soon.” Meg sat up on the flowered upholstery.

“We should cross that bridge when we come to it.” The Mountie hung his head, staring at his high browns as if the answers were written across the toes.

“Inspector, don't worry.” Fraser spoke, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“If only it were that simple, Fraser.” A wry grin pulled at her full, wine colored lips.

“Here you are, Sir, I've prepared a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on wheat bread with a glass of milk and I've removed the crusts, just the way you like them.” Turnbull set a tray on the couch beside her. The sandwich had been cut into triangular halves.

“Thank you, Constable Turnbull, I think I can manage from here.” Meg wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

“Very well, Sir, I'll be at my desk should you need anything.” The junior Mountie stood, turning to go.

“I'll be down the hall, Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser took his leave of her.

*****

 

 


	13. 13

Chapter Thirteen

_**The Consulate …** _

_**A Few Days Later …** _

Meg sat at her desk, the phone still in her hands. Dr. Botner's office had called with the test results. Positive. Meg was going to be a mommy. The news stunned her, having heard it for a fact. A wave of nausea swept over her as the dial tone buzzed. Dief stood up, putting his head on her lap. He'd been camped out in her office more than he stayed with Fraser. Meg ran her fingers through the wolf's fur absently, taking deep breaths to keep from being sick. After a moment she put the phone back in the cradle and stood up. It was time to face the music.

With a pleasant expression pasted firmly on her face, Meg walked past Turnbull, toward Fraser's office. He'd taken to spending more time around the consulate since she'd begun having morning sickness. The Mountie was seated at his desk, a report on his blotter.

“Fraser, we need to talk, privately.” Meg began, trying not to sound as if it were bad news. Ben rose from his desk, standing at attention in front of her.

“Would you like me to close the door, Sir?” He gestured.

“No.” Meg hesitated, she didn't want to tell him he was going to be a father just anywhere. “Meet me at the coffee shop around the corner in twenty minutes.” Fraser looked at her, so confused, but Meg didn't explain further. She turned to leave, a tension and uncertainty following her like a tailwind.

_**Twenty Minutes Later …** _

Meg sat in the corner of the busy coffee and doughnut shop sipping an iced latte and nibbling on a bear claw when Fraser arrived, his Stetson setting him apart from the crowd. He doffed his Stetson and entered the narrow building. She watched him make a b-line for her. Meg had anticipated that. She'd ordered a second bear claw and a hot chocolate for him.

“Thank you for coming, Ben, I didn't want to tell you at the consulate.” Meg wrung her hands laying on her lap. This wasn't easy for her. Having a child was life changing under the best of circumstances.

“This is about your appointment the other day?” Fraser asked, taking the bear claw she pushed toward him. He'd noticed that she'd called him by his first name.

“Yes,” Meg answered, avoiding his gaze. She knew it's intensity without actually seeing his eyes. The lady Mountie forced herself to look at him. Fraser deserved that from her.

“Ben, Doctor Botner's office called, I'm expecting your child.” She said flatly, forcing the words out. He blinked a few times, his face still neutral. Then a smile broke through, changing his features drastically.

“That's wonderful.” He leaned forward, excited.

“I wish I were as positive of that as you are.” Meg sighed, taking her latte in hand.

“In the cab the other day you said you wished to take responsibility for the child.” Fraser said, his excitement waning.

“I do, Fraser, it's just that this is a life altering change for me, as well as unexpected. What happens now? Our superiors aren't going to be thrilled about this.” Meg pointed out frankly.

“We can face the consequences together, if you'll allow me to stand by you.” Fraser's voice was low. He slipped his hand across the table and took hers.

“I appreciate your sentiment, Ben, but this is more complicated than that.” Meg laid her other hand over his, weary to the bone.

“It doesn't necessarily have to be, Meg.” He smiled, relishing the sound of her name. Meg couldn't help but smile back at him. They would get through this together.

“I suppose the first step is to tell Turnbull. I'll have to inform Ottawa tomorrow as well.” Meg began planning her next steps.

“You should give her your grandmother's ring, Son.” Robert Fraser sat down at the table with them. Benton cast a hasty glance the chair where his father sat in his dress reds, his Stetson cut off across the back. Meg didn't catch the exchange visually.

“What did you say about your grandmother?” Meg said, taking a bite out of her bear claw. He turned back to her, his brows lifted in question.

“I wish my grandmother were here to tell the news.” He fibbed, Ben did wish he could tell his grandparents, but that wasn't what Meg had heard.

“Yes, I'll have to tell my parents as well.” Meg hadn't thought of their reaction. Her mother knew her conflicting feelings for the Mountie but a baby was something out of left field.

“I'd like to meet your parents, if I may.” Ben volunteered. They would be the only grandparents his child would be able to meet, at least in the flesh.

“Your grandmother's ring may be a bit snug, they can re-size them these days so well that you couldn't tell the difference.” Robert Fraser continued talking, whether Ben was listening or not. Being dead, he was rather getting used to being ignored.

“We'll have to see how things go with our superiors in Ottawa first.” Meg pushed her latte away, it didn't taste the same anymore.

“I understand.” Fraser said impassively, his tone and manner unchanged. It annoyed Meg but there were bigger things to deal with just then.

“I have to freshen up, Fraser, I'll be back momentarily.” Meg stood, annoyed and not wanting to show it or apologize for it. He stood as she left, his chivalry kicking in without thinking.

“Well, are you going to give her your grandmother's ring or not?” Robert Fraser persisted.

“I don't know, Dad, the Inspector doesn't seem to share my affections.” Ben leaned back in the rickety, metal chair.

“She might if you'd ever go out on a limb and tell her.” Robert Fraser pointed out bluntly.

“Dad, it's not that simple, she's my superior officer, there are regulations.” Ben looked around, no one was paying attention to the guy in red talking to himself-yet.

“You're making this more complicated than it should be, Son, tell her. Whatever the thieves slipped the two of you was a blessing in disguise, trust me, but you have to take it and run.” The elder Fraser urged his bashful son. Ben hung his head.

“Dad, I can't force Meg to love me, it doesn't work that way.”

“What doesn't work that way?” Meg asked, returning to the table. “Who were you talking to?” She looked around the coffee shop.

“I was, ah, I was talking to myself.” Ben fibbed again.

“That's a bad habit, Fraser.” Meg gathered her empty latte cup and the remnants of her bear claw to throw them away.

“Yes, it is, I'll have to break it.” The Mountie gave his father a pointed glare as he gathered his debris. Robert Fraser simply shrugged, he wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon.

“I have an errand to run, I'll see you at the consulate later.” Meg stiffened. The awkwardness between them was like a heavy humidity in the room, oppressing the pair.

“Can I be of any assistance?” Fraser stopped short of calling her 'Inspector'. She looked up at him and her expression softened.

“No, Fraser, it's just an errand.” She assured him, a smile picking up the corners of her lips. The Mountie nodded.

“I'll see you at the consulate later.” Fraser watched her leave the coffee shop, her long bob haircut bouncing on her shoulders.

****

_**CPD …** _

The twenty-seventh precinct was a bee hive of activity when Fraser walked into the bull pen. Frannie ignored him when he greeted her. Ray waved from his desk, his ear glued to the phone. Huey and Dewey were both hunched over a file on Huey's desk. Lieutenant Welsh's office door was closed. Fraser hung his Stetson on the coat rack, followed by his outer coat. The look on his face told Ray a whole story.

“Hey, ah, can I call you back?” Without waiting for an answer, the detective hung up the phone.

“What's got you smilin' like a Jack-o-lantern, Fraser?” Ray leaned forward, his blue eyes shining with afternoon sun from the windows high on the opposite wall.

“The doctor's office called, the results were positive.” Fraser spoke low, trying not to be overheard. Ray stood up, his lean frame becoming a live wire of excitement.

“That is awesome Fraser! Congratulations!” Every ear in the bull pen turned and every mouth closed. Ray saw every eye on him and stopped dancing around.

“What, go back to work, mind yer own business.” He motioned toward Huey and Dewey. Both detectives waved him off, shaking their heads.

“Thank you, Ray, but the Inspector is less enthusiastic about this than either of us.”

Lieutenant Welsh strolled up to Ray's desk, he'd heard the shouting and came to investigate.

“What is there to be enthusiastic about, Constable Fraser?” Welsh asked, his hands shoved in his pockets, shirt sleeves rolled up near his elbow.

“I'd rather not say, Sir, if you don't mind.” Fraser tried to think of something to say but came up empty so he went with nothing at all.

“Does it involve the Inspector in any fashion? I've noticed you've not been around the precinct as much lately.” Welsh jangled the change in his pockets as he stood at the end of the desk.

“Yes, Lieutenant Welsh, it does, that's why I'd rather not say anything.” Fraser almost squirmed.

“I can understand your hesitancy, Constable, I know a thing or two about dealing with female superiors.” Welsh nodded, giving the Canadian a knowing look. Ray was fit to be tied that he couldn't share his best friend's wonderful news.

“Let me take you out to lunch, Fraser.” Ray volunteered, rounding the desk to grab his coat.

“Thank you kindly, Ray, a celebratory lunch is in order.” Fraser stood to collect his Stetson and coat.

_**Li's Panda Hut …** _

Fraser and Ray took a seat in the back of their favorite Chinese restaurant. The waiter, a young man in college, brought their drinks without being asked. The Chicago detective was still grinning.

“So, where are the two of you going from here?” Ray asked, searching Fraser's face for answers.

“I'm not entirely certain, Ray, Meg is going to inform our superiors first thing tomorrow morning.” The Mountie shrugged, his thoughts going to the people that had to be told.

“Nah, I meant are you going to ask her to marry you or what?” The detective clarified as he watched a leggy blonde out of the corner of his eye.

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Fraser admitted, remembering his father's suggestion.

“Well, are you going to ask her?” Ray persisted.

“I'm not certain she shares my affections, Ray.” The Mountie had already been down this road with his dad, he wasn't enjoying it any more the second time around.

“If you do, how are you going to propose, all romantic like or just walk in her office and ask her?” Fraser hadn't even thought that far ahead. Ray told his friend how he'd proposed to Stella, his ex-wife. It had been a romantic affair, at least to Ray's way of thinking. Telling it left him a little melancholy.

At the end of lunch, Ray dropped Fraser off at the consulate with a wave and a big grin.

“Congratulations, Buddy.” The detective waved before pulling his muscle car into the stream of heavy traffic. Fraser watched him disappear around the corner before he walked up the steps. He noted that the curtains in Inspector Thatcher's office were closed. Fraser wondered if she were in from her errand or still busy.

“Hello, Constable Fraser.” Turnbull greeted his superior officer when he walked through the door. Fraser pasted on his pleasant expression.

“Constable Turnbull, good afternoon. Has the Inspector talked to you since this morning? Fraser wondered, trying not to be the one to spill the beans.

“No, I haven't seen her since this morning. Is there something I should know?” The younger officer asked, curious.

“No, well, yes, but no, I'll let the Inspector explain.” Fraser went round and round, leaving Turnbull in an even more confused state than usual.

“I understand, I think.” The younger officer nodded. Fraser shook his head and went his way to his office.

_**After hours …** _

Meg took her sweet time going back to the consulate after coffee and bear claws with Fraser. She had things to think about and didn't feel like dealing with the awkwardness at the consulate. Her apartment was too full of her accomplishments and reminders of her past. Meg ended up walking around the mall for a few hours, browsing the baby clothes and furniture. It was a pastel world of blues, pinks and yellows. More than once she caught herself laying her hand on her still flat stomach, wondering about the life growing inside her.

At the consulate, Meg just happened to catch Turnbull gone back through the building. She snuck into her office and closed the doors. The lady Mountie didn't feel up to dealing with either of her subordinate officers just yet. At five o'clock she heard Turnbull clock out, telling Fraser good-bye before leaving the office. Meg waited another half an hour to leave her office.

**

_**Down the Hall …** _

Fraser had heard Meg milling around her office off and on all afternoon. He decided to leave her alone, having a child was a lot to process. After Turnbull left, Ben locked the door and changed into his street clothes. The gash down his bicep was still a problem. He'd kept it bandaged but it was in a spot where he could either see it or take care of it. He sat at his desk, gauze, tape and antibiotic cream spread across the desk blotter when Meg tapped at the door.

“It's open.” Fraser said as he pulled his t-shirt sleeve up to get at the gash. Meg walked in as he removed the bandaging from that morning.

“Constable Fraser, I came to double check the time Ms. Sunday's lawyers scheduled the meeting.” Meg started talking before she realized what Fraser was doing. She stopped in her tracks.

“Oh, I didn't realize you were busy.” Meg began backing out of the room.

“Inspector, I was just tending this wound.” Fraser stood and followed her out into the hallway. She slowed down, eventually stopping a quarter of the way down the hall. When Meg saw the long gash she noted how red and raw it still looked. He watched her reaction. Meg winced, coming closer to examine the wound.

“Let me bandage this for you. Why didn't you say you needed help with it?” Meg led him back to the office and sat him back in his desk chair.

“Things at the consulate have kept me busy, I hadn't noticed.” Fraser answered as Meg stood between him and the desk. It was close quarters but neither of them minded.

“You need to be more mindful of your health, this could get infected, then what would you do?” Meg fussed, using a four by four pad to clean around the jagged gash.

“I will, in the future.” Fraser watched her, amazed at her, as usual.

“See that you do, if you take care of yourself you'll be better able to take care of your responsibilities. It only takes a few, extra minutes.” Gently, Meg began applying the antibiotic cream to the wound, her fingers dabbing the smelly cream on his skin. She squinted to see the details more closely, leaning forward, strands of dark, silky hair obscured her vision. Fraser reached out and tucked the strands behind her ear, his fingers tickling her skin. When she looked up at him, he saw the fear and sadness in her eyes.

“Who takes care of you, Meg?” Fraser asked, wondering who she turned to when things got rough.

“I take care of myself.” She met his gaze, her breathing speeding up. Quickly, she returned to bandaging his arm, placing gauze pads against his skin and taping them down securely.

“There, that should do until tomorrow. Make certain that you keep it clean and the dressing changed.” Meg pretended that she didn't see the concern in Ben's eyes or feel the way his finger tips lingered on her skin. His touch rocked her to the core.

“I'm sorry that this has upset you, Meg.” Ben took her hand away from the last piece of tape, holding her fingers. “I don't regret what happened.” He slipped his arms around her loosely.

“I don't regret it either, Ben, I just never expected any of this.” She shrugged, relaxing in his embrace.

“I'll do anything I can, you know that.” Ben spoke as he rand hands down her arms. Meg looked up at him and nodded. She let a smile pull at one side of her mouth, eventually pulling it into a full smile. She leaned her forehead against Fraser's chest and let out a deep sigh.

“Everything will be alright, Meg.” His voice held promise in it.

“Do you really, Ben?” she looked up at him again, her eyes searching his face.

“Yes, I really do, Meg.” he gently squeezed her.

“I'm glad it's you.” Meg said as she pulled away, not really wanting to leave but feeling better.

“I'm glad it's you as well.” He chuckled as they parted. Ben took it as a sign that maybe she did feel something more for him after all.

Meg left the consulate still melancholy but feeling more hopeful. She wasn't in this alone anymore.

****

_**Nine o'clock, Chicago Time …** _

“Hello, Mom, how are things with you and Daddy?” Meg said as she stretched her legs out on the couch after going home from the consulate.

“Oh, I'm fine, but I do have some news, I'm expecting.” The lady Mountie listened intently to the silence on the other end of the line, trying to judge if it were good silence or bad.

“Expecting what, dear?” Ms. Thatcher's soft voice asked, not understanding the context of her daughter's words.

“A baby, Mom, I'm pregnant.” Meg clarified, wincing. It had been a long day and she desperately wanted to eat raisin oatmeal cookies and go to bed.

“Are you certain, I mean, you're not dating anyone, maybe it's just a hormone fluctuation or something.” Ms. Thatcher suggested. She just couldn't believe that her daughter would be having a baby without a husband.

“Mom, remember when I called you and told you about the museum robbery case and Constable Fraser and myself waking up undressed?” Meg asked, wishing she could bury her head in the sand like an ostrich.

“You mean you and your officer slept together?” The older woman's voice became shrill. She'd lived in denial all Meg's life that her little girl had grown up.

“Yes, Mom, we did.” Meg admitted, tears beginning to form in her dark brown eyes.

“Have you told him your carrying his child?”

“Yes, Mom, I told him earlier today, he's excited.” Meg remembered that wonderfully sunny smile spread across Fraser's face when he heard the news.

“Then he can raise the child, surely he has parents to help out.” Ms. Thatcher said matter- of-factly.

“No, Mom, Fraser's parents and grandparents are all deceased.” Meg laid her hand on her stomach, thankful that she still had her parents, even if this was tough for her.

“There's always the option of adoption, Meg, dear.”

“Absolutely not, Mom, I want this child, I don't care how or why, she's mine.” Meg was appalled at the idea of giving the baby up for adoption.

“Margaret Ann Thatcher, do not take that tone of voice with me, I am still your mother.” Ms. Thatcher's voice became edgy.

“A mother doesn't recommend that her daughter give up a child like that.” The tears Meg had been holding back began to spill. She barely kept a sob from erupting.

“You aren't married and you're so far from home, what else are you going to do, Meg, you can't very well have a career and a child by yourself.” Ms. Thatcher pointed out.

“I told you, Fraser is excited to become a father, he's a kind and honorable man.” Meg charged back at her mother. All she'd wanted was for her mother to comfort her, not argue with her.

“If he were so honorable then why hasn't he made an effort to have a relationship with you before now?” Her mother's words made Meg wish that she'd never picked up the phone to begin with.

“Good night, Mom, I'll call Dad in a few days, tell him I love him, okay.” Meg managed without breaking down or shouting at her mother. How could she explain things to her mother?

“Oh no you don't, don't you dare hang up this phone, Margaret, I'm just pointing out things you haven't considered, you always were so short sighted.” That tore it for Meg.

“It isn't Ben's fault that I don't let him in, he's tried, he's been patient and understanding. The only relationships that I've ever seen have been based on fear and resentment. You ruled Dad like he was an unruly child, talking to him like a dog. You never let him do things his way, you never gave him any room to breathe or to express himself. You bitched and griped at him if he left out the smallest detail. Even if he did things perfect, you'd throw off on him. Why do something when you're not going to do it right anyway.” Meg's hands shook as she held the cordless phone. She'd never told her mother these things. A sob broke free and took the tough Mountie's breath away.

“I don't want to let him in just to hurt him like you hurt Daddy. I want my daughter to know that I love her for who she is, not what she's accomplished. I want peace in my life and to share it with Ben. But no, like you, I keep pushing him away, hurting him. I don't know how to,” she sobbed, “I don't know how to love anyone.” The other end of the line was quiet for a long moment.

“Meg, baby, I'm right here.” Her father spoke into the phone. She heard her mother crying in the background.

“Daddy, I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt Mom, I just wanted her to listen to me.” Meg's voice broke.

“I know, Baby, I heard you tell her you're having a baby of your own. She just wants the best for you. Don't be too hard on her, she's proud of you and so am I.” Her father's voice sounded sad but full of love. Meg wanted to put her arms around her dad and let him rock her to sleep. He was a quiet man who loved to laugh and joke. He'd always made living with her overbearing mother easier. Meg didn't know how he did it but they'd been together over thirty-five years.

“I think I love him, Daddy, Fraser wants to be part of this child's life, and mine. I'm scared I'll hurt him, drive him away.” Meg confided in her father.

“You're a good judge of character, Meg, if he's what you say he is, then this Fraser will work with you, give it some time, don't try too hard and let it come to you naturally.” Mr. Thatcher sounded so wise, with his wizened voice and gentle demeanor.

“I love you, Daddy. I'm sorry I upset Mom, will you tell her that for me?” Meg let her tears flow. She loved her mother even if she didn't always agree with her way of doing things.

“I'll tell her, Baby girl, don't worry about your Mom, she'll come around.”

Meg said goodbye and hung up the phone. She wanted to crawl in a hole and pull it in after her. The lady Mountie wondered how things could get so messy so quickly. She was too old to still feel like a heartbroken teenager, but she did, lying on the couch, curled up in the darkness.

****

 

 


	14. 14

 Chapter Fourteen

_**The Next Day …** _

Turnbull whistled as he filled out the daily forms from the previous day. Fraser had taken Diefenbaker for a walk early. The smell of coffee wafted in from the kitchen, joined by the cinnamon-y smell of apple pie in the oven. At promptly seven o'clock the phone rang.

“Good morning, Canadian Consulate, how may I help you?” Turnbull answered routinely, his voice cheerful.

“This is Inspector Thatcher, Turnbull, I won't be coming in today.” Meg said, wishing she felt better. It had been a long, sleepless night.

“I'll inform Constable Fraser, Sir.” The junior Mountie said as if it were an order.

“Thank you, Constable Turnbull.” Meg gave him a few more instructions before hanging up. She laid back down and waited for sleep to come.

_**Twenty Minutes Later …** _

Fraser pulled his Stetson off as he walked into the consulate. He noticed that the Inspector's office door was closed and the light was off. Curious, he opened the door and popped his head inside. Empty.

“She's not here.” Turnbull's deep, rumbling voice startled Fraser who jumped.

“I'm sorry, Constable Fraser.” Turnbull apologized when Fraser whirled around, his hand laid over his racing heart.

“Did you say the Inspector isn't in yet, Turnbull?” Fraser took a deep breath.

“Inspector Thatcher called at seven this morning and said that she wouldn't be coming in today.” The younger officer clarified, a chipper smile on his lanky features.

“Did she indicate a reason for not coming in this morning?” Fraser's eyes widened.

“No, she didn't.” Turnbull began to wonder about the anxiety he saw in his superior officer's face.

“I'll be out of the consulate for a bit, on an errand.” Fraser put his Stetson back on and turned to leave.

_**Meg's Apartment …** _

A knocking at the door roused Meg from the edges of slumber she'd been trying to delve into all night. She hated getting out of her warm, cozy bed so she rolled over, resolved to let whoever it was stand there all day rather than answer the door. The knocking grew louder and more incessant. It had a definite pattern to it as well.

F-R-A-S-E-R, the pattern repeated three times. Slowly, Meg rolled out of bed and walked down the hall from her bedroom, past her bathroom, hall closet and into the living area. She wore a pair of red and white striped, flannel pajamas and leather moccasin house shoes. Meg hair was a mess and she wasn't wearing make-up when she pulled the door open. One hand on her hip, she looked up at Fraser.

“Good morning, Meg, Constable Turnbull told me you'd called in this morning and I was concerned.” He studied her puffy features for a moment.

“I'm fine, Ben, I just didn't sleep last night.” She didn't give an inch.

“I was concerned for you.” The Mountie repeated, gazing around her to the living room behind. Meg caught his line of sight and sighed, she might as well invite him inside, they had a long road ahead of them.

“Come in, Ben, would you like coffee?” Meg offered, stepping aside.

“Yes, thank you kindly.” He closed the front door behind them, taking his Stetson off. The Victorian décor made him feel out of place and oversized. A round, golden framed painting hung over the cadet blue sofa on the wall opposite the front door. The space wasn't what Ben had pictured for Meg. A light pine end table held a whimsical, crème colored lamp with tassels and crystals around the shade. He placed his hat on the back of a mahogany and emerald green wing chair.

“Have a seat, I'll only be a moment.” Meg called as she entered the kitchen. For some reason Fraser felt drawn to the kitchen behind her, following her like a little boy. When she turned around, there he was, watching her.

“What?” she asked, taking a pitcher of purified water from the refrigerator and pouring it into the coffee percolator.

“I didn't realize how much we don't know about each other.” He answered, looking around the small kitchen. A stove sat beside the door, a cabinet between it and the refrigerator. At Meg's back was the kitchen sink and more cabinet space. A painting of “The Last Supper” hung over her small, round table and chairs. It was the only decoration in the room.

“It's hard to believe we're going to have a child, isn't it, you and I.” Meg laid her hand on her mid section, a smile transforming her features.

“Yes.” Fraser agreed, leaning against the door frame between the kitchen and the living room.

“I wish things had been different, the circumstances.” Meg shrugged, her hand still on her belly.

“In an ideal world you and I would have had a proper courtship, an engagement, a wedding and then the baby.” Ben outlined, his mind thinking about the ring he'd been contemplating giving her.

“Ah, in a perfect world.” Meg gave him a wry smile, taking two coffee cups down from the cabinet opposite the stove and setting them on the counter top.

“I called my parents last night to tell them the news.” She busied herself with the mint green sugar jar on the counter top beside the stove.

“I take it they weren't supportive.” Fraser stated simply. Meg turned to him, a heavy sadness in her dark brown eyes.

“My mother recommended adoption or that you raise the baby.” A hard edge filled her voice.

“I'm sorry, Meg.” Fraser looked down at his high browns.

“My dad was more understanding. He's going to like you.” A more positive tone filled her voice as she reached for the milk in the fridge.

“I'd love to meet your parents, if I could. They'll be the only grandparents our child will be able to meet.” Fraser pulled his gaze up to see Meg watching him for a change.

“I'll call Dad in a few days, perhaps he and Mom will fly in for a visit.” Meg didn't sound convinced. Fraser wished he could make her mother see Meg for the fine, caring woman he knew she could be, that she truly was inside.

“Is this why you called in sick today?” Fraser said, guessing her puffy eyes and worn air was from being up all night crying. His heart ached for her.

Meg nodded, staring at the percolator dripping strong, black coffee. “Yes.” She finally answered. When the coffee quit dripping, she poured them both a cup and added sugar to the pink one.

“How do you take yours, I don't even know that.”

“Just sugar, thank you.” He answered, a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. Meg scooted the fist sized sugar container toward him and let him sweeten his coffee for himself. She slipped into the living room and took a seat on one end of the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. Fraser followed her, seating himself on the opposite end of the sofa. They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying their coffee.

“I suppose I should tell Turnbull I'm expecting tomorrow morning.” Meg finally broke the silence. Her eyes briefly met Fraser's.

“I could if you'd like.” The Mountie volunteered.

“No, it should come from me, I'm the ranking officer.” Meg set her coffee cup on the end table and pulled her feet tighter under her. She seemed ill at ease.

“Perhaps we should tell Turnbull together.” Fraser suggested, trying to compromise.

“Fraser, I'm the one who will have to bare the brunt of the consequences for this, I appreciate that you want to help but …” Meg shrugged, unsure of what to say.

Fraser saw that she was trying to crawl into her shell, the impenetrable fortress she'd thrown up between them, again. As so often happened, he didn't know how to navigate when it came to her, to women in general actually.

“I won't stop trying to help, Meg.” He shifted, maneuvering close enough to smell her Gain fabric softener.

“Thank you, Ben, just give me time, alright.” She said softly, her arms crossed over her chest, her body so curled tightly into the corner of the couch, away from him. His gaze steady, Fraser nodded as he stood to leave.

“I should be getting back to the consulate.” Fraser picked up his Stetson and placed it on his head. He seemed to graze the ceiling from Meg's perspective on the couch. Looking at him took her breath away. He opened the door to leave.

“Ben,” Meg called before he could step into the hallway, “thank you for checking on me.” She gave him a rare, genuine smile.

“Any time, Meg.” He smiled back before closing the door gently behind him.

*****

_**The Next Day … The Consulate …** _

Meg took a deep breath and dialed the long distance number she'd been working up the nerve to call all morning. She didn't want to tell Ottawa that she was expecting a child. It wasn't the fact that she was pregnant, Meg was happy about that. It was the questions she'd have to answer; Who, What, When, Where, and How. What business was it of theirs?

**

Fraser paced the hallway outside Meg's office four times before knocking on the door. He hated being a pest but his need to know the verdict from Ottawa out weighed his courteousness. It took Meg a moment to answer. Opening the door, the Mountie peered inside before stepping fully inside. She was still on the phone and didn't look none too pleased. Fraser's heart seized in his chest.

Meg pointed to the chair across the desk from her, her dark eyes avoiding Fraser while she listened intently to whomever was on the other end. She began taking notes on a legal pad.

“Yes, Sir, I understand, see you then.” The Inspector hung up the phone and leaned back in her swivel chair.

“They're sending someone to interview the both of us, apparently my reports have been too vague concerning the relationship between me and my subordinates.” Meg gripped the blue, Bic ink pen tightly, bending the plastic. Ben could see the anger and a tinge of fear in her eyes.

“You've always maintained a professional demeanor with myself and Constable Turnbull.” Fraser volunteered, hoping to ease her worries.

“You and I know that, but our positions hinge on Mr. Ashcraft's assessment.” Meg broke the ink pen in her hands. Jagged edges of the plastic bit into her flesh. She dropped the pen onto her desk top and growled at the blood rivulets welling up on her left hand. Ben stood up and came around the desk to kneel beside her. From one of his pockets, the Mountie pulled out a freshly laundered hanky and laid it across the wound.

“What am I supposed to do, Fraser?” Meg huffed as she let him tend her wound.

“Let's clean and disinfect this, everything will be as good as new.” He retrieved his wallet and pulled out a band-aid.

“No. I meant about this situation. I can't very well act professionally with you while I'm expecting your child. They could re-assign me to a Canadian posting, what happens then?” Meg wondered aloud. She felt frustrated and helpless. Leaving Chicago, leaving Ben wasn't an option.

“Let's take one thing at a time.” Ben held her left hand tenderly, looking up into her sad, brown eyes with a hopeful smile.

Turnbull turned the door knob before stepping into the office. The first thing he saw when he entered carrying the mail was Constable Fraser knelt down in front of Inspector Thatcher.

“Oh, my, have you finally proposed, Constable Fraser?” Turnbull rushed to the desk, exuberance filling the air around him like the scent of leather polish.

“Proposed? No, I was,” Fraser began, wondering how obvious it was that he wanted to ask Meg to marry him.

“I injured myself, Turnbull.” Meg rose from her chair, her face stern.

“My apologies, Sirs, I saw the, I assumed.” Turnbull began back peddling quickly. Inspector Thatcher adjusted her suit jacket and swept a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Constable Turnbull, have a seat.” Meg looked to Fraser, it was time to tell the junior Mountie the news. The younger officer sat down, his face pensive.

“I don't know how else to say this,” Meg hesitated, not wanting to go into detail about her baby's conception. “I'm expecting.” She forced the words out.

“A child, Sir?” Turnbull asked innocently. Fraser slumped momentarily. Meg but both hands over her face, exasperated.

“No, bunny rabbits. Of course a child, Turnbull, what do you think _'expecting'_ means?” Meg tried hard not to snap at him. _“I should have waited until I began to show, see if he'd notice then or just think I'd gained weight.”_ She thought to herself.

“Congratulations, Sir, that's wonderful. I'm sure you and the father are very excited.” Turnbull took her by the shoulders, beaming as if he'd been the one to accomplish something.

“Thank you, Constable Turnbull.” Meg squirmed out of his grasp as gracefully as she could muster.

“If you don't mind me asking, who exactly is the father?” The junior Mountie asked, his tone low and conspiratorial.

“Turnbull!” Fraser scolded him, his face reddening. The light of realization flooded the younger officer.

“Dismissed, Constable Turnbull.” Meg's voice redirected him.

“Yes, Sir.” The lanky Mountie backed out of the room at double speed. He couldn't keep a smile off of his features as he closed the door behind him. Turnbull was almost giddy.

“Heavens, Fraser, what has happened?” Meg groaned, sitting back down in her swivel chair, her face crumpled as she fought tears. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

“It's going to get better, Meg.” Fraser knelt down again, taking her into his arms. The soft way he said her name pulled at her heart strings. Could it be true, were things going to ease up?

“I hope so, Ben.” Meg leaned her head against his shoulder for a long moment.

“George Elliot said, 'A woman's hopes are woven of sunbeams; a shadow annihilates them.' ” Ben recited.

“You have a quote for everything, don't you.” Meg pulled away, chuckling at his optimism.

“I hadn't noticed.” He shrugged, bashful suddenly. Meg touched his face, her thumb tracing his cheekbone as he met her gaze.

“Don't ever change, Ben, not for me, not for anyone or anything.” She leaned her forehead against hers. They both smiled.

****  

 


	15. 15

Chapter Fifteen

_**CPD Bull Pen …** _

Fraser strolled into the bull pen, his hat spinning on one finger as he and Dief greeted various officers and staff along the way to Ray's desk. It was a crisp, frosty morning outside and the Mountie felt like a kid again; frisky and young. The trees outside were vibrant yellows, oranges, reds and dry browns. Cooler temperatures affected his joints, especially his back, but Fraser stretched a little longer and went on his way.

“Hey, Buddy, how's the Inspector doin?” Ray asked as he sipped coffee, his lanky frame swaddled in a Chicago Bulls sweatshirt.

“Inspector Thatcher is well, thank you. Our superiors are sending someone to interview us about our professional relationship, however.” Fraser's features went from happy to concerned in a split second.

“That can't be good.” Ray shook his head in sympathy.

“We'll be fine.” Fraser seated himself. Dief settled himself on the floor, looking up at the humans, trying to find the crème filled, chocolate iced doughnuts he smelled somewhere nearby.

“Who are you we-ing with, the Ice Princess?” Francesca sauntered up to the desk, a file in her hands and a hurt, angry expression on her features. She'd worn a pair of loose, navy colored slacks and a sweater with her Civilian Aide patch on the left shoulder.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” Fraser asserted, meeting Frannie's doe eyed gaze.

“You admit that you and Thatcher had a fling?” Her tone hinted toward the interrogative but Fraser took it as a statement.

“Francesca, as I've explained, some things are easier to discuss with male friends.” Fraser reminded her.

“Thatcher's gonna have a baby.” Ray blurted out, a million dollar smile brightening his face.

“What!?” Frannie exclaimed, her voice shrill. Fraser looked at Ray with surprise.

“She told your bosses up North, I thought I'd finally get to tell Frannie.” Ray shrugged, innocently.

Huey and Dewey's head both swiveled toward Ray's desk when they heard what he'd said. The pair made their way over.

“Constable Fraser, you and the Iron Maiden, I'm surprised, but congratulations.” Dewey said, teasing the Canadian. Benton was flabbergasted. He didn't know how to take all the attention.

“Thank you, Detective Dewey.” He stiffened in his seat, wishing Ray had kept his big mouth shut.

“Is there going to be a baby shower?” Frannie asked, still incredulous about it all. She hated that it wasn't her they were congratulating for having Fraser's baby but she cared enough to set that aside. It had always been Thatcher for him and Frannie knew it.

“I'm not certain, Francesca, you'd have to ask Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser answered, his head spinning.

“Fine, I will.” The Civilian Aide slapped him on the arm with the file, her voice resolute. She had a few things to talk to the Inspector about anyway.

**

_**The Consulate …** _

Meg picked up the ringing phone on the second ring after taking a breath and deciding to be more positive.

“Good morning, Inspector Thatcher speaking.” She tried to sound pleasant.

“Hello, Meggie, how's my girl?” Her father's voice greeted her across the miles.

“Daddy, I'm alright, how are you and Mom?” Meg settled back in her chair, glad to hear a friendly voice.

“Your voice tells me different, tell me what's wrong, Meg.” Mr. Thatcher prodded. He knew his daughter better than anyone; her moods, her reasoning, everything.

“They're sending someone to evaluate my field performance in a few days. They said that my reports had been too vague in regards to my relationship with my subordinate officers.” Meg confessed, sounding very unsure and afraid.

“Because of the baby?” Mr. Thatcher asked, wishing he could do something to make her feel better.

“Yes, I refused to name the father. Daddy, it's Benton's but it's not any of their business.” He could tell that she was leaning back against her desk chair, her eyes closed as she spoke.

“Would it help any if I came to Chicago for a visit?” The older man asked, his thoughts running toward what he'd need to pack already.

“No, Daddy, I don't want to drag you into my problems, I can take care of it.” Meg answered, her voice stiffening. She'd always been so independent, something that her mother had tried for years to deal with. They'd always butted heads.

“Are you sure, Honey, I don't mind.” Mr. Thatcher didn't care what she said, he was going to visit his little girl.

“I'll be fine, Dad, I promise.” Meg reassured him.

“Call me if you need anything, Meggie, I love you.” Mr. Thatcher said, wishing he could give her a hug and see for himself that she was alright. No matter her age, Meg would always be his baby.

“I love you too, Dad, tell Mom I said hello.” Meg's voice smiled over the line. Her dad always had a way about him that made her feel like things weren't as bad as they seemed. Meg loved him for it.

“Bye, Meg.” Mr. Thatcher heard her say good-bye before hanging up. He set the phone down for a moment, then picked it back up and dialed the airline. Nothing would do until he'd seen his baby for himself. Mr. Thatcher booked two open ended, round trip tickets to Chicago. His wife could come if she wanted or sit at the house without him.

*****

_**O' Hare Airport ….** _

Turnbull stood waiting for Mr. Ashcroft at the air port terminal, his hands behind his back as he scanned the oncoming faces. He didn't hold a sign, he didn't have to, wearing his dress reds, the personnel officer couldn't miss the junior Mountie.

Todd Ashcroft was a middle sized man with an early paunch. He wore thick eyeglasses and kept his nearly black hair in a crew cut out of the 1950's. He'd been working for the RCMP personnel department his whole career, since graduating from college.

“Constable Turnbull I presume.” Ashcroft greeted the junior Mountie.

“Yes, and you are Mr. Ashcroft?” Turnbull asked, smiling broadly. His fair features and sunny disposition made him look like an RCMP recruiting poster.

“Yes, pleasure to meet you.” They shook hands, Turnbull nearly crushing the paper pushers' hand.

“Oops, sorry about that.” The junior Mountie apologized. Ashcroft looked up at him, his beady eyes narrowed.

“I assume Inspector Thatcher is at the consulate already.” Ashcroft said, pulling his rolling suitcase behind him.

“Yes, Mr. Ashcroft, the Inspector arrives at the consulate promptly at seven-thirty each morning.” Turnbull informed him. He didn't like the thoughts of anyone thinking that the boss lady was doing anything wrong.

“I'd like to see her as soon as possible.” Ashcroft lead off through the airport toward the door. Turnbull kept his thoughts to himself, trailing after him.

****

_**The Consulate …** _

Meg felt anxious and nauseous at the same time but for different reasons. She sipped her hot cocoa and nibbled on crackers to keep her stomach in place. Meeting Mr. Ashcroft had her on edge. Meg had taken great pains to make herself appear professional as well as the office. Neither Fraser nor Turnbull had been through such a thorough inspection as the one Meg put them through the day before Ashcroft's arrival. She'd been especially hard on Fraser, but he didn't say a word, just took notes on what needed improvement. She shook her head when she left his office. He'd let her push him again.

Meg heard the front door of the consulate open and close. She immediately stood up, expecting Mr. Ashcroft. After adjusting her jacket and a last look at her reflection, Meg exited her office door to peek into the hallway.

“Right this way, Mr. Ashcroft.” Turnbull ushered the slouching man past the reception desk and down the hall toward the Inspector's office. Fraser stepped out into the hallway as well, coming to meet the visitor. They all converged at Meg's door.

“Mr. Ashcroft, this is Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser.” Turnbull introduced the pair trying their best to avoid eye contact.

“Good morning, Mr. Ashcroft, pleasure to meet you.” Meg turned on her charm, smiling as she took the bespectacled figure's pudgy, weak hand.

“Inspector Thatcher, hello, I've read your file.” He nodded toward Fraser, a pleasant expression on his face. “Could you and I discuss matters privately, in your office?” Ashcroft let her smaller hand go, his voice sounding like a breeze through the trees.

“Yes, of course.” Meg nodded, turning toward her safe haven. She wondered how safe it would be after this meeting.

“Constable Turnbull, take messages for me, thank you.” Meg spoke to her junior officer.

“Understood, Sir.”

Locking eyes with Fraser momentarily, she saw him give her a lightning fast wink. She felt better knowing that he would be behind her no matter what happened.

**

Turnbull and Fraser both kept an ear open for the Inspector's door to open. Dief laid in the office doorway, waiting, his amber shot eyes keenly peeled.

“Diefenbaker, relax, everything will work out.” Benton stood up to stretch his legs, coming into the doorway to scratch the white wolf between the ears for a moment.

 _“But that guy is a weasel.”_ The wolf asserted, wishing he could take a bite out of his backside. It would be worth the heartburn and Fraser's scolding. Dief had gotten fond of the stern, lady Mountie. She didn't feed him but she knew how to scratch his belly in all the right places.

“I know, old friend, but there's nothing we can do.” Fraser sighed, wishing Dief could take a bite out of Ashcroft's backside as well.

Looking out toward the front door, Fraser saw an older man step through the door. He looked around consulate appreciatively, his hands thrust into his jacket pockets.

“May I help you, Sir?” Fraser raised up and began walking down the hallway. The older gentleman had dark brown eyes and a thick, full head of mostly black hair.

“Hello, I'm Timothy Thatcher.” He smiled and extended his hand toward Fraser.

The Mountie's heart froze in his chest. This was Meg's father. Ben wondered at the man's motivations for being in Chicago. Regardless, the Mountie stood his ground.

“Mr. Thatcher, good morning, I'm Constable Benton Fraser.” The light of recognition filled the man's dark eyes.

“Meg's spoke of you.” Mr. Thatcher shook Ben's hand firmly, his voice deep, a lush baritone.

“She has?” Fraser's voice rose a fraction. Diefenbaker came over to the two men and sat down beside Fraser. He didn't sense any animosity from the stranger, but he had a familiar scent about him, like someone else he'd encountered.

“Inspector Thatcher is in a meeting just now, could I show you to the sitting room for coffee?” Fraser offered.

“That would be good, I was hoping you and I could talk without her anyway.” Timothy smiled, his manner genial. He allowed Fraser to show him into the sitting room and gather coffee for a moment. It had been a long plane ride from Ottawa and the older man was beginning to get sleepy. He looked forward to getting back to the hotel room to rest for a bit. Between the warm, golden glow of the sconces on the wall and the comfy, navy blue couch it was hard not to fall asleep.

“Constable Fraser, I came to see Meg for myself. She says she's fine but I have to wonder, my girl has a tendency to be a perfectionist, and when things don't go as she plans she gets stressed. Is she actually doing alright?” Mr. Thatcher asked as Fraser set the tray down on the coffee table between the sofa and an arm chair.

“I'm afraid that between the museum theft, the unexpected pregnancy and the personnel officer from Ottawa coming to review her files, Inspector Thatcher is quite stressed.” Fraser answered frankly. He still wondered if Mr. Thatcher harbored any ill will toward him.

“That sounds like Meg. She's spoken of you often, only good things, I assure you.” Timothy saw the anxiety in the Mountie's features. He sat back after pouring cream and sugar into his coffee. Fraser's brows shot up, he didn't expect that. Inspector Thatcher had always ridden him so hard.

“That surprises you, doesn't it?” Mr. Thatcher chuckled, his dark eyes twinkling.

“Inspector Thatcher has very high expectations of her subordinate officers, I'm afraid I often fall short of those expectations. I'm afraid she doesn't care for my way of handling matters that don't pertain to the consulate.” Fraser admitted. The other man waved him off, his eyes shining.

“Meg wishes she were more like you, she admires your bravery. Being tough is her way of trying to protect you, she feels like she's the bad guy in the middle between the work you do off-duty here in Chicago and the bosses in Ottawa. I know my little girl better than she knows herself.” Fraser saw the pride and love in Mr. Thatcher's bearing. His daughter was his pride and joy.

“Inspector Thatcher is quite motivational, I don't wish to disappoint her.” Fraser sipped set his coffee on the table, letting it cool.

“Do you love her, Constable Fraser?” Timothy Thatcher asked, his dark eyes narrowing as he tried to gauge the younger man's reaction.

“Yes, Sir, I do.” Fraser answered without hesitation. He opened the breast pocket of his uniform and pulled out a small, gold band with a modest diamond and handed it to Mr. Thatcher.

“It was my grandmother's ring. I want to raise this child together, to watch over her and the baby.” Fraser looked Meg's father in the eye. “I'd like to have your approval before I ask her.”

“She loves you, did you know that?” Timothy asked, his dark eyes gauging Fraser, appraising him.

“I can only hope to be worthy of her love, Sir.” Fraser took the ring Timothy handed him and put it back in his pocket.

“Take care of my girl, Constable, she's not as indestructible as she'd like people to think. Ask her to marry you, the sooner the better.” The weight of responsibility hit Ben like a hammer to the temple. He was responsible for more than just a child, but Meg as well.

“I will, Sir.” The sitting room doors flew open and Meg stood peering into the room at the two men. Fraser popped up like a pop tart out of a toaster.

“Hello, Meg, how's my girl?” Mr. Thatcher stood up and crossed the sitting room floor.

“Dad, I wasn't expecting you, I would have sent someone to the airport.” Meg looked flustered at her father's sudden appearance.

“I know, I should have called. I had to see my girl.” Mr. Thatcher stood, his eyes shining.

“Who is this, Inspector Thatcher?” A weak eyed man in a gray suit asked. He had a self-important air about him.

“Oh, Mr. Ashcroft, this is my father, Timothy Thatcher.” Meg introduced her father to the pencil pusher from headquarters.

“You're _that_ Margaret Thatcher?” Mr. Ashcroft asked, incredulously, his eyes widening. Meg turned on him, her dark eyes narrowing and her chin lifting. Both Fraser and Timothy knew that look, she was pissed.

“Mr. Ashcroft, my father's history with the RCMP has nothing to do with my performance. I have attained my position as Inspector through hard work and perseverance. I graduated at the top of my class and have advanced on my own merit since then.” Meg let him have it. She was tired of the sallow faced bureaucrat already. Later she would lay it off as a hormonal snap.

“I was simply unaware that your father was Timothy Thatcher, the most decorated officer on the RCMP force in living memory.” Ashcroft said in awe. Meg had always had to fight to establish her own identity within the Force. Fraser had a new respect for her upon hearing that. Even he'd heard of Mr. Thatcher as a young officer. The older officer had been stationed mostly in the eastern end of Canada, while Benton and his father were settled in the Yukon.

“And this is Robert Fraser's son, the one who turned one of our own in.” Ashcroft pointed out tactlessly.

“Yes, Mr. Ashcroft, he turned Gerard in for the murder of his father, also a highly decorated and respected officer.” Meg stepped toward the personnel officer, her hands fisted at her sides. It was the first time Fraser had witnessed her taking up for him in any fashion.

“My apologies, Inspector Thatcher, I was sent to investigate, nothing more.” Ashcroft lost some of his self-importance when he realized he was in the presence of the real force behind the RCMP. The three of them were the kind of officer he would never measure up to.

“I think we've concluded your business here at the Chicago branch of the Canadian Consulate.” Meg suggested pointedly.

“I agree, I'll drop in tomorrow for you to sign some paperwork and leave you to your work, Inspector Thatcher.” Ashcroft responded almost meekly.

“Very good, Mr. Ashcroft.” Meg said by way of dismissal. “Have Constable Turnbull escort you around the city.”

Ashcroft shook hands all around and excused himself. He left the consulate, leaving the air feeling cleaner and more refreshing. Mr. Thatcher waited until the personnel officer had left to really visit with his daughter.

“So, Meg, I was proud of the way you handled that stuffed suit.” Mr. Thatcher gave his daughter a hug before taking his seat on the sofa.

“Thank you, Dad.” Meg had settled down and was more at ease.

“I should leave the two of you to visit.” Fraser said before turning to leave the room.

“No, Fraser, stay, you said you wanted to meet my parents.” Meg laid her hand on her stomach, thinking that she and Benton were as tangled as two people could get already. The Mountie took his seat and offered Meg coffee but she looked at it as if it would bite. She had been avoiding coffee since the night of the museum theft.

“Yes, I'm glad that you could make it, Mr. Thatcher. I'd heard of you as a young officer but I didn't know you had a daughter on the Force.” Ben looked at the two of them sitting together. He could tell Meg was a Daddy's girl.

“Her mother and I had other ideas, but Meg was bound to join the Force.” Timothy shook his head. “What can you do but support your children.” He took Meg's hand and squeezed it gently, smiling.

“Mother was livid, as I recall.” Meg commented dryly. She still hadn't gotten over her mother's suggestion that she give the baby up for adoption.

“Your mother is a drama queen, Meggie, she thrives on it.” Mr. Thatcher chuckled. Fraser watched them together, jealous of their relationship.

“Is that Timothy Thatcher, ole' medal man Thatcher they called him.” Fraser heard his father in the background. It took everything in him not to wince.

“He once saved five children from a burning building, on the third floor. The whole thing was a four alarm fire, but he went inside anyway.” Robert Fraser continued, taking a seat in the other wing chair opposite the sofa.

“Did someone say something in the hallway, Constable Fraser?” Meg frowned, trying to figure out where the sound of a man's voice could be coming from. It was near but far away at the same time.

“No, I don't believe so.” Fraser turned, trying to hear past his father's story. Meg shrugged.

“Let me take the two of you to lunch, to celebrate my grandchild.” Mr. Thatcher grinned broadly, taking Meg's hand.

“I have so much work to do, Dad.” Meg began but saw the way her father's eyes lost their sparkle. “Well, I suppose it isn't going anywhere. I'll probably have paperwork three days after I retire.” Meg sighed, standing up.

“Hello, is anyone here?” A familiar, female voice called from the front door of the consulate.

“Mother?” Meg crossed the sitting room and popped her head out the door to see her mother gliding gracefully down the hall toward her.

“Oh, Meg, dear, there you are, I have just had a dreadful flight from Ottawa to O' Hare Airport. It took me forever to get the cab driver to understand that I wanted to go to the Canadian Consulate, not Canada itself.” The petite woman pulled her daughter into a bone crushing hug.

“Mother, I didn't think you would be coming after our,” Meg stopped, not wanting to say 'fight', “after our phone conversation the other night.” The Inspector wriggled out of her mother's embrace.

“Oh, Meg, you take things too seriously, I'm your mother, of course I want to see you. You look rather tired, are you getting enough sleep, dear?” Mrs. Thatcher laid a hand on either side of Meg's face and studied her complexion critically.

“Yes, Mother, I sleep eight hours every night.” Meg answered, pulling her mother's hands off her face.

“Are you drinking eight glasses of water every day, you know how good that is for your skin.” Meg simply nodded, there was not gaining headway where her mother was concerned.

“Is this the young man that knocked you up?” Mrs. Thatcher turned to Fraser.

“Mother!, that is out of line.” Meg felt like her life was going to hell in a leaky hand basket.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Thatcher.” Fraser shook hands with the woman politely, his face warming with embarrassment.

“Well, we know he's a liar, it's rarely a pleasure to meet me.” Mrs. Thatcher laughed.

“Evelyn, we were just about to go to lunch, would you care to join us?” Mr. Thatcher asked calmly.

“Ah, lunch sounds divine, let's go.” Mrs. Thatcher smiled, threading her arm through her husband's and following him toward the door.

“Let me get my purse and coat.” Meg stopped by her office and retrieved her things. She wasn't entirely certain she could handle her parents _and_ Fraser at lunch. She began to follow her parents toward the door. Fraser's hand on the small of her back made her turn and look at him. The warm, reassuring smile on his handsome features made Meg feel like it wasn't such a disaster after all. He offered her his arm for the walk out to the curb. The lady Mountie took it and gave him a thankful smile in return.

***** 


	16. 16 Proposal

Chapter Sixteen

_**The Cafe …** _

Mrs. Thatcher had dozens of questions for Fraser. She wanted to know who his parents were, how long he'd been at the Chicago Consulate and all about the museum theft. Patiently, he answered her questions, expecting nothing less of the woman who would be his child's only grandmother.

“Come on, Evelyn, let the young man eat in peace.” Mr. Thatcher gently reprimanded her after she'd asked him about his love life before meeting Meg.

“Timothy, I simply want to know if he has a history of loving then leaving.” Evelyn Thatcher countered, unperturbed. Her manicured hand waved her husband's words away as she sipped iced tea.

“No, Ma'am, I do not, I don't take a woman's affections lightly.” Fraser responded, his face beginning to warm up. He ran his thumb along behind his ear as he met Evelyn's gaze. “I've found that if you treat people the way in which you want to be treated they respond in kind.”

“Ah, the Golden Rule.” Mr. Thatcher nodded, lost in thought. Once the world had followed that maxim, now days it was every dog for himself. Timothy missed the old days.

“Yes, Sir.” Fraser responded adroitly.

“Tell me, Margaret, does he always sound so, I don't know, so bookish?” Mrs. Thatcher spoke low to her daughter, her hands talking for her when words failed.

“Yes, Mother, his grandparents were librarians.” Meg responded, wishing for the billionth time that her mother hadn't insisted on naming her Margaret.

***

After lunch the four walked back to the consulate in the crisp, fall air. Fraser and Mr. Thatcher discussed hockey and curling while Meg and her mother walked in silence. When Mrs. Thatcher did ask a question or make an observation, Meg responded in monosyllabic phrases.

“I know you're still angry at me for suggesting that you give the child up for adoption, Meg, but really, you don't have to be so cold.” Evelyn finally snapped, turning on her daughter as they neared the consulate.

“How am I supposed to feel, Mother, you haven't exactly been supportive of any of my decisions, not joining the Force, not moving to Chicago and then you say that I should give my child up for adoption. How can I be anything but cold?” Meg fired back.

“I thought that you were a career woman, dedicated to rising through the ranks. With a child you might as well put your career in park, the race is over.” Evelyn huffed, her dark eyes boring into her daughter.

“I want this child, Mother, my life is changing, yes, but for the better. I'm sorry I wasn't the daughter you wanted or expected, I'm sorry I disappointed you, but this is who I am, can't you accept that?” Meg's husky voice broke as she tried to keep the tears at bay that were threatening to spill down her cheeks. Fraser and her father were up ahead, busily discussing anything else.

“Oh, Meg, you were never a disappointment to me, how could you ever think that? I didn't want you to join the RCMP because I knew they'd take you away from me. I've always wanted the best for you.” Evelyn shrugged, her throat tightening as she fussed with the buttons on her trench coat.

“You had a funny way of showing it, Mother.” Meg sighed, emotionally exhausted.

“You were always more in tune with your father, he was your hero. I guess I never figured out how to break into your world.” The older woman took a deep breath, getting her emotions under control.

“Oh, Mom, I just wanted you to love me, to hear that you were happy for me.” Meg slipped her arm through her mother's and they began to walk slowly toward the other end of the street where Fraser and Mr. Thatcher were standing, waiting on them.

“I'm sorry, Margaret, do you still love your old Mother?” Evelyn put her arm around Meg and squeezed her gently.

“Yes, but I'd love you more if you'd please call me 'Meg'.” The lady Mountie shook her head.

“Alright, Meg.” Evelyn felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“Okay, Mom.” Meg sighed, feeling better. She saw the way Fraser watched her as she approached, as if he'd been waiting for her his entire life.

“I believe your young man is in love with you.” Evelyn whispered as they neared the fellas.

“Mother!” Meg rolled her eyes, blushing.

“If I were twenty years younger I'd give you a run for your money on Constable Fraser.” The older woman persisted, just to make her daughter blush even more.

“Mother, what am I going to do with you?” All the lady Mountie could do was shake her head.

“I don't know, but I can tell you what to do with him,” Meg turned, her mouth agape, “say 'yes', when he asks you to marry him, don't let him slip through your fingers.” Evelyn's tone grew serious. She saw the way her daughter looked at the handsome Mountie. That same look had been on her face while she and Timothy had been young. Sometimes she still caught sight of it on her features when their eyes met in the dresser mirror in the morning.

“I'm going to try, Mom.” Meg whispered as they got to within an arm's length of the two men waiting for them. Evelyn took Timothy's arm when he offered, mutual adoration passing between them. Fraser offered Meg his arm and smiled when she slipped her hand through. Onlookers watched the two couples stroll easily down the sidewalk and into the Canadian Consulate.

****

_**Three Days Later ….** _

_**Cook County Courthouse, Courtroom Number Three …** _

Carlos Ramirez stood up to hear the sentence being pronounced. He'd come to accept that he was going to spend time behind bars for his part in the museum theft. The former museum guard just hoped that the judge was lenient with him. Andrew had been the mastermind behind the robbery and he'd gotten his just rewards: a four by six plot in Shady Pines Memorial Cemetery.

The wood paneled courtroom was quiet as the jurors' spokesperson stood up and handed the judge; Judge Elhannon Begley. He had a strict but fair reputation, although his bullfrog-ish appearance would lead most to believe that he was a hanging judge.

Meg and Fraser sat in the courtroom, both of them stoic. Their job was finished and it was neither here nor there to either of them how much time Carlos was sentenced to, so long as he was punished for his crimes. Even Turnbull, who'd been knocked unconscious, didn't wish him any ill will.

“Carlos Ramirez, you are hereby sentenced to ten years for the crime of grand theft,” The judge rattled off the charges. A collective sigh of relief went through the whole room.

Canary Sunday had pleaded out, testifying against Carlos and several other black market contacts she'd made over the years. She got out of it with eight years.

“Let's get out of here, Fraser, the reporters will be like a pack of rabid dogs for a quote.” Meg whispered in his ear as she gathered her coat and purse. She had been the center of attention long enough. Meg just wanted to get back into her usual routine at the consulate.

“Yes, Ma'am.” Fraser stood up, taking care to excuse himself through the line of people seated in the gallery. He hated to see the stress in Meg's eyes. She'd cleared so many hurdles, he just wanted to give her a moment to relax.

The pair walked out of the courtroom and found their way out the back of the building, to the parking structure. Turnbull sat in the consulate Lincoln, absently staring into space.

“It's over so soon?” Turnbull asked as he watched Fraser hold the door for Meg.

“Yes, it was just the sentencing.” Meg said annoyed. She was tired and her stomach was queasy. The morning sickness was beginning to lessen. Fraser slipped into the back seat beside her, his face unreadable in the dark parking structure. Meg felt him slip his hand over hers on the seat between them. The lady Mountie squeezed his fingers gently, knowing that if she could see his face he'd been looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. They didn't talk much about how they felt but it was communicated just the same; holding hands, winks, and lingering stares between them. Slowly but surely, the pair were becoming closer.

****

At the consulate, Meg took her seat behind her desk, pulling out her glasses and sorting through the official mail from headquarters. An officially sealed envelope from Ashcroft's office made Meg pause. She immediately slid her letter opener under the seal and pulled the single sheet of paper out.

_Dear Inspector Thatcher,_

_After reviewing your files I have come to the conclusion that there is no evidence of misconduct on either your part or that of your subordinate officers. I wish to offer my deepest apologies for the inconvenience this investigation may have caused you and your office._

_Sincerely,_

_Todd Ashcroft, personnel officer, RCMP, Ottawa._

 

Meg dialed Fraser's extension, telling him to come into her office, post haste. Almost before she could hang up the phone she heard his tap on her door.

“Come in, Fraser.” Meg called from her desk, taking a split second to shove her glasses into the top desk drawer. You'd think that after having had a night of crazy, passionate sex with the man, Meg could allow him to see her wearing her prescription glasses, but no, she still insisted on hiding them.

“Is there anything the matter, Inspector?” Fraser asked, anxious that she might not be feeling well.

“I just received this from Ashcroft.” Meg handed him the letter to read for himself. She felt relieved to have it in writing. The Mountie scanned the letter quickly, his eyes flying across the printed page.

“This is excellent.” Fraser handed her the letter back. He saw the way her face had lightened, as if a weight had been lifted.

“Yes, it is, now if I can just get through the next few months without any major crises.” Meg laid one hand on her stomach. There was starting to be a slight pooch, almost imperceptible.

“When is your next appointment?” Fraser said, watching her lean back in her chair.

“Friday.” Meg smiled. He was keeping up with her appointments better than she was. Fraser had asked Turnbull to bake her some oatmeal raisin cookies because she craved raisins.

“What are you doing for dinner this evening?” Fraser asked, his gaze locking with Meg's. The shell he'd been wearing for so long around her was beginning to crack and soften.

“I didn't have any plans, why?” Meg shrugged.

“Could I persuade you to accompany me this evening?” Ben's tone deepened, his voice sending chills down Meg's spine in the best of ways.

“Yes, what time will you pick me up?” She sat up, leaning forward.

“Seven?” He answered, a mysterious twinkle in his green eyes.

“Sounds like a date.” Meg teased gently, her eyes dancing.

“Yes, it does.” Fraser nodded, taking her hand as he leaned forward to perch on the edge of the desk.

“Casual or dress?” Meg persisted, feeling the soft kiss he pressed against the back of her hand.

“I'll take you as you are.” He responded matter-of-factly.

“Good, I'll see you at seven.” She smiled as he stood up to leave.

_**Seven P.M. ….** _

Ben hummed as he tried to brush his hair into some semblance of order. He'd showered, shaved and changed into his best civilian clothes. Dief had been sitting in the office floor for an hour waiting for Ben to get ready.

“Do you think she'll accept?” Ben asked as he attempted to get the crown of his head to lay down. Dief sat up straight, his eyes shining. “Me too.” That brought a smile to the Mountie's face. He'd been carrying his grandmother's ring in his pocket for weeks, waiting until the right time to ask her. Tonight was the night, come hell or high water, he was determined to ask.

“I've asked Ray to come check in on you, take you for a walk, don't beg for any Krispy Kreme, you know what happened to you last time.” Fraser warned his furry friend. The wolf gave him a disdainful look and turned his head.

“Don't be such a fuss pot.” Fraser responded. Dief rolled his eyes up at him. The clock across the street from the consulate chimed six bells. The Mountie tossed his brush into his shaving kit and closed the lid to his father's foot locker.

“Time to go, Diefenbaker, wish me luck.” The wolf barked happily as he watched Fraser step through the door.

_**Meg's Apartment ….** _

“Oh dear, I look like a train wreck.” Meg fussed as she re-applied her make-up and brushed her hair. She'd been surprised when Fraser had asked her to dinner. Meg only hoped that it wouldn't be an unproductive evening. It didn't take much to get him off course. When she'd first gotten there she'd given him a simple assignment, deliver a letter. He'd ended up in the back of a garbage truck with another man's fiancee.

Promptly at six-forty-five, the door bell rang, just as Meg had figured it would. If the Mountie wasn't early it was because he was dead. Excitement flooded through Meg as she slipped into her pumps and walked to the door. Looking out the peep hole, she saw Fraser standing there, trying to get a strand of hair at the crown of his head to settle down. She felt like she was flying down hill on her bicycle as a child, the exhilaration freeing her.

“Ben, you're early.” Meg opened the door, almost sucking him inside with it.

“Good evening, Meg.” Timidly, Fraser stepped into her apartment. He still felt out of his element in her daintily furnished home. “You're looking lovely this evening.” Ben complimented her as she took his Stetson and laid it on the coffee table.

“Thank you,” Meg stopped in her tracks, “But this is the same thing I wore to work this morning.” She looked puzzled, pulling at the sleeve of her deep maroon jacket, then adjusting the fold of the dark gray turtle neck she wore with pearls.

“You've looked lovely all day then.” He amended. She gave him a look that said, 'flatterer'.

“Have a seat, I'm just about ready.” Meg walked briskly back through the apartment. When she returned, Fraser was perched on the edge of her sofa. In his hand she saw the shine of an engagement ring, the diamond glittering in the light from a nearby lamp.

“I'm ready.” Meg spoke, breaking the spell. Ben jumped up like a piece of toast being ejected from a toaster. He seemed nervous. Meg gave him a reassuring smile.

“Where are you taking me for dinner?” Meg began, hoping to put him at ease. Truth be told, she was just as nervous as he was.

“Have a seat, Meg.” Fraser motioned toward the sofa he'd just vacated.

“Okay,” Meg sat down, her coat over one arm and her purse on the other. Fraser knelt down in front of her, just like he'd done the day Turnbull had assumed he was proposing.

“I know you and I didn't get off to a smooth start,” Ben took her hands in his, running his rough thumb over her fingers.

“But we can finish that way.” Meg laid her hand along his cheek, leaning closer to kiss him.

“I can only hope that someday you'll love me as I love you; completely and with abandon.” Fraser pulled the ring from the inside pocket of his leather jacket.

“I've loved you since the first time I laid eyes on you, Benton Fraser.” Meg's forehead touched his as he gazed into her eyes.

“Will you marry me, Meg?” Ben whispered. He hung on the slight pause before she answered.

“Yes, I will.” She smiled, tears beginning to mist her dark eyes. Ben slipped the engagement ring on her left hand. He slipped his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

“Now you've got me, you have to feed me.” Meg laughed as she pulled away.

“Gladly.” Fraser still held her loosely in his arms as he knelt at her feet. “You have but to ask and I'd do anything for you,” Gently, he laid his hand on Meg's stomach. “both of you.” She let a tear fall down her cheek as they kissed, her heart bursting with happiness.

_**Later …** _

Meg called her mother first thing when she got back to her apartment, telling her about the engagement ring. It hadn't been an overly romantic event but she didn't care, the man she loved had proposed.

“Oh, Meg, I'm so happy for you. Have you discussed the wedding date yet?” Evelyn's mind went into overdrive in a split second.

“No, Mom, we haven't. Don't get any bright ideas, we both want a simple affair, just friends and family.” Meg warned her mother. She could hear the wheels turning in her mother's mind over the phone.

“Just friends and family, that's fine. I've always wanted to plan your wedding with you, Meg. That's what mothers do.” The more mature Thatcher whined.

“Benton and I want a quiet ceremony, no doves, no fifteen layer cake, just something quiet.” Meg put her foot down. She wasn't having the extravaganza she knew her mother would try to turn it into.

“You are at least going to wear a gown, aren't you?” Evelyn said sarcastically.

“I thought I might wear your gown.” Meg thought back to the pictures she'd seen of her mother and wondered if the dress would even fit, especially with the baby bump beginning to expand.

“Oh, that old thing is tattered beyond repair after this long.” Evelyn dismissed her daughter's idea.

“I'd still like to see it, if you wouldn't mind.” Meg imagined walking down the aisle toward Fraser, resplendent in his dress reds. She could see the small chapel draped with dark blue, gold and white ribbon, a single red rose at each pew; the colors of the RCMP. Her father would give her away, naturally donning his red serge. Meg knew what her mother's reaction would be if she suggested wearing her own dress uniform to get married in. For a minute Meg seriously considered it.

“You and I could have a lot of fun searching for the perfect wedding dress. I could come down a few weeks before the ceremony and help you look.” Evelyn suggested.

“We haven't discussed where the wedding will take place yet, Benton has quite a few friends here in Chicago.” Meg's head began to swim, this was more complicated than she'd anticipated.

“But you have _family_ here in Ottawa, dear.” The older woman pointed out. Meg clenched her teeth, annoyed at how snobby her mother could be at times.

“Perhaps Ben and I should just elope, no fuss, no bother to anyone.” Meg suggested tersely.

“Now, Meg, don't be like that, I just meant that you have all your aunts, uncles, and cousins here that would love to come.” Evelyn pointed out. She wasn't making it sound any better.

“Mom, Ben and I have a lot to discuss, why don't I call you later and we can go from there.” Meg sounded tired.

“Alright, Meg, just think about what I said, we could have fun finding a dress, something simple but flattering if you'd like.” Evelyn compromised. If she had her way about it Meg's wedding would be first class all the way, something to rival Princess Diana's. Sadly, she knew Meg would have none of it.

“I love you, Mom, tell Dad I love him too.” Meg heard her mother repeat the message to her father and his response in the background.

“We love you too, Dear.” Mrs. Thatcher hung up the phone slowly, wishing she could be there to help her daughter with the two biggest events of her life.

*****

 


	17. 17

Chapter Seventeen

_**Late December ….** _

_**Nyala Restaurant ….** _

“Fraser are you certain that Turnbull reserved the restaurant for tonight?” Meg asked for the second time that day. Christmas dinner dishes had just been washed two days before in most of Chicago's homes as Meg and Fraser sat in the back of a cab headed toward a well established restaurant just outside of downtown.

“Yes, I called and confirmed myself.” He answered. There was a nip in the air even during the day as December rushed toward January. The Mountie had noted a change in Meg during the last few weeks, she seemed more controlling, if imaginable. There was the baby to prepare for, the wedding and her consulate duties. Fraser was picking up as much slack as she would allow him to, but that wasn't much.

“Good.” Meg squirmed in her seat, her hand laying on her small baby paunch. “My parents were supposed to have arrived at the airport two hours ago, did you call and make certain their flight landed?” She turned to Fraser.

“Yes, I also called and confirmed their hotel reservation and their rental car reservation.” Fraser answered, knowing her next two questions.

“I don't want Mother to think that I'm not capable of taking care of things.” Meg fussed with her coat tail as they stopped at an intersection.

“You're doing fine, Meg.” Ben spoke low, his hand pulling hers to his lips.

“I've been terribly hard to get along with, haven't I?” She sighed, wishing she could just disappear with Fraser for a few days.

“You're fine.” Fraser slipped his free hand around her shoulders and pulled her in close.

“If you were anyone else I'd say you were lying to make me feel better.” Meg laughed as she laid her head on his shoulder and took a deep breath.

“I'm not lying, but do you feel better?” He asked.

“Yes, thank you.” She answered with a tired smile.

_**Nyala …** _

Nyala inhabited the entire bottom floor of an old dance hall built in the 1890's and decorated in an art deco motif. The only modern addition was toward the back of the space, where double doors lead to a top notch, well furnished kitchen. A crystal chandelier hung in the center of the dance floor, casting warm, white light on the raised platform for the musicians; a group that played jazz and swing as well as early 1950's Rock and Roll hits. Champagne gold curtains hung on either end of the stage.

The main seating area shimmered in brass and olive green tones, white sconces illuminating the wall at regular intervals. Brisk, white tablecloths covered with splashes of maroon and honey gold dressed each table. Waiters in black slacks, starched, white shirts, black waist coats and maroon bow ties waited on the guests arriving.

When Ben and Meg arrived the Vecchio family were already seated and talking among themselves. Ray Kowalski, (aka Vecchio), sat leaned back, listening to the conversation. He waved when he saw Fraser and Meg walk in. He also saw the nervousness in the lady Mountie's face and stance. She wanted to be anywhere else but the restaurant.

“Where is everyone, Fraser, I thought you'd double checked the invitations?” Meg whispered as she pasted on her 'friendly face'. To Ray she looked more constipated than anything.

“I did, Lt. Welsh and Francesca must be caught in traffic.” Fraser whispered back.

“Frase, Inspector, have a seat.” Ray stood up and waved them over to where he was sitting. Meg purposely put Fraser between herself and the loud, rambunctious Vecchio clan.

Fraser pulled out Meg's chair before seating himself. “Good evening, Ray.” The Mountie smiled, waving to Ma Vecchio as she tried to get her granddaughter to sit still at the table.

“Welsh is bringing Frannie since he's coming anyway.” Ray filled in his partner.

“Detective Huey and Detective Dewey are coming as well?” Fraser asked, silently praying they did.

“Yeah, they were just dragging into the station when I left. Where's Turnbull?” Ray wondered, more to have something to say than curiosity.

“He arrived twenty minutes late this morning so he's on two hour sentry duty for punctuality, he should be here toward the end of dinner.” Fraser answered, remembering the two days worth of sentry duty he'd pulled for a similar but more severe offense. He considered Turnbull lucky.

“There's Frannie and Welsh.” Ray waved to them. Frannie waved back then went to sit with the rest of her family. Welsh sat across from Meg. Huey and Dewey wandered in a few minutes later.

“Fraser, where are my parents?” Meg asked, worry creeping into her voice.

“I'd imagine they're late because of traffic.” He answered, trying to sound reassuring. Meg pursed her lips and shook her head.

“I'll call their cellular phone.” Ben excused himself and disappeared. He'd barely gotten out of sight before he returned, the Thatchers trailing behind.

“Mom, Dad, I was beginning to wonder about you.” Evelyn came around the table to give her girl a hug. Timothy did as well, shaking Fraser's hand.

“How's my girl doing?” She turned loose of Meg, holding her at arm's length for examination.

“I'm fine, Mom, the doctor says we're healthy.” Meg smiled, genuinely glad to see her mother.

“Mr. Thatcher, Mrs. Thatcher, allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Harlan Welsh, Detectives Jack Huey and Thomas Dewey, Francesca Vecchio, her mother, Mrs. Vecchio and her eldest daughter, Maria, her husband Tony and granddaughter Mia. Last but not least, this is Ray.” Fraser introduced the whole crowd.

“Hello, everyone.” Evelyn waved before she allowed Timothy to seat her.

“As you requested, Constable Fraser, we have a buffet table ready for your party.” The head waiter, a slim, smiling fellow with laughing, dark eyes spoke to the Mountie.

“Thank you, Alfred.” Ben nodded before standing up. “If I may have your attention please.” Fraser tapped his knife against his water glass until everyone quietened down. “Thank you kindly, I'd simply like to say how much we appreciate everyone attending this celebration. My father once told me of a young man, about to be wed, as I myself am, who walked halfway across Canada, from Winnipeg to Dawson City, to stake a claim for gold at the end of the Yukon Gold Rush. He didn't mine very much gold; the ground was unyielding and the weather unforgiving. The young man nearly froze to death more than once, but he had a goal; to dig just enough gold for an engagement ring for his fiancee in Winnipeg. He knew that if he could prove his love for her by making the earth yield to his pick and shovel, he could prove that he would love her forever. After working all one winter, then spring and summer, the young man had enough gold for a ring and enough to start them off in life. On the way back to Winnipeg, the young man saved the life of another miner, a diamond miner. In appreciation, the miner gave him the diamond for his fiancee's ring. The young man made it back to Winnipeg and his fiancee. She heard him knock on her door one fall day almost a year after leaving, ring in hand. The young couple was George and Martha Fraser, my grandparents. I can only hope that Meg and myself have as long and happy a marriage as my grandparents. I know that I would walk a lot farther than from Winnipeg to Dawson City for her and our daughter. I would give them nothing less than my life.” The room had grown quiet as everyone listened to Fraser's story. It wasn't often that he got to finish a story or that anyone actually listened. Even little Mia was quiet as she listened to the funny man in red. His voice was captivating, somber and heartfelt mixed with hope and a faint note of regret.

“So, thank you.” He raised his water glass in salute before sitting down.

“Nice job, Son, I could never quite make it sound so romantic when I told the story, but your mother liked to hear it anyway.” Robert Fraser leaned down and spoke to his son.

“Thank you.” Ben responded, glad that his father was there to join them, even if it were as a ghost.

“For what, Fraser?” Ray asked, turning to him. The Mountie waved him off.

“That is a beautiful story, Benton.” Evelyn said, patting his hand lightly. Timothy Thatcher nodded his approval, smiling. He saw the tears and the love in his daughter's eyes as she watched Fraser speak.

“Let's eat.” Frannie stood up, breaking the silence. She was first in line for the buffet. Everyone else filed in behind her. The band had set up while Fraser spoke, silently fitting their instruments into their usual places. After a few minutes of warming up, they began playing a cheerful tune from the forties.

“So, is this the baby shower, engagement dinner or wedding shower?” Evelyn asked as she sat down with her plate. Waiters and waitresses quietly filled glasses and helped the guests as everyone filed back to the table.

“It's a celebration, Mom, all the above.” Meg answered, laughing.

“You should come back to Ottawa for a few days with me, let me throw you a baby shower slash wedding shower. Your cousins have been calling me regularly about it.” Evelyn almost pouted. She would have if Timothy weren't glaring at her.

“No thank you, Mom, if any of the family wants to come I'd be more than glad to help them out, but I'm not having a three ring circus for a wedding.” Meg's tone became chilly.

“Now, Meg, there's no need to …” Timothy began until his daughter leveled her gaze at him.

“We're having the wedding here in Chicago and the honeymoon in Ottawa, I've already booked the bed and breakfast.” Meg responded more softly. She saw the hurt pout to her mother's lacquered lips.

“I brought my wedding gown for you to look at. The poor old thing will need a good dry cleaning and the lace overhauled.” Evelyn changed the subject. She did want her daughter's happiness, figuring out how to accomplish it was her biggest challenge.

“I've found a dress shop willing to do the alterations, we have an appointment tomorrow.” Meg tried to think of what time.

“Two o'clock.” Fraser supplied before she could ask. He saw Timothy's amused smile and shrugged.

While everyone ate they talked, Ma Vecchio talked to Welsh and Timothy and Ray had a good conversation about firearms. Dewey and Maria had gone to high school together so they had a few topics in common. Fraser was pleased to see that every one seemed to be having a good time.

“Ms. Vecchio, would you care to dance?” Lieutenant Welsh asked Ma Vecchio, making the mature, Italian woman blush just a bit.

“Yes, I'd love to. It's been ages since I've danced.” She got up and followed Welsh to the dance floor. They fell into step with an up tempo swing tune. The Thatchers were the next couple to take to the floor. Next Jack Huey asked Frannie to dance, making her laugh. The Civilian Aide took his hand and followed him to the floor, falling into step easily with the smooth, black detective.

“Care to dance, Meg?” Fraser whispered near her ear. With a nod and a smile she let him lead her out onto the floor. Ray watched them, wishing Stella, his ex-wife, were there for him to dance with. Instead, he and Tony sat watching Mia sway on her feet by the table as Maria and Detective Dewey took to the floor. For a while everyone swayed and tried not to step on anyone's toes as the band played jazz and swing tunes, mixing it up with a little Elvis and Fats Domino.

“Your speech was beautiful, Ben. I didn't realize this was your grandmother's ring.” Meg said as they band played a slow song.

“Oh, I didn't tell you?” He frowned as he held her comfortably against his chest. They shuffled a few more bars before Meg spoke again.

“Did you really mean what you said at the end, Ben?” She pulled back to look him in the eye.

“Every word, Meg.” He answered honestly.

“That's a lot to live up to.” Meg had to lean back slightly to see his clear, green eyes. The way he looked at her reminded her off just before the door opened in the egg hatchery.

“It is how I feel, Meg.”

“I'm scared, Ben.” She said the words she'd been feeling since the whole thing began. “I've never cared for anyone like I do you.”

“Trust your heart, you've got a good one.” Ben pressed a kiss against her forehead, feeling the engagement ring on her left hand as he held her hand.

“You do know that I love you, right? I mean, I know we don't say it every day or anything.” Meg stopped dancing, concern in her dark eyes.

“I'm reminded every time you look my way.” Ben answered, smiling. Some times she looked at him as if it surprised her to see him looking back at her.

“I do love you, Fraser. I wished I were better at showing it.” Meg began to shuffle again as the music played. She laid her head on his shoulder and swayed with the music, easily allowing him to lead the steps.

“It's something we'll both have to practice.” Ben answered quietly.

_**That Night ….** _

Fraser walked Meg up to her apartment, her parents leading the way. They'd all driven in their rental car from the restaurant.

“Are you coming, Meg?” Evelyn asked when she got to the top stoop.

“I'll be along in a minute, Mom.” Meg tossed her dad the key as she stood at the bottom step with Ben.

“I'll have hot chocolate waiting for you, it's getting chilly out here.” The Canadians considered the six degrees above freezing as 'chilly'.

“Thank you, Mom.” Meg smiled, wishing her mother would fly on up to her apartment and leave her alone. The Thatchers walked on through the glass double doors, out of ear shot.

“I like your parents.” Ben said as he held Meg's hands in his, her fingers cold to the touch. She laughed, throwing her head back in a belly laugh.

“What?” The Mountie asked, confused.

“Oh, Ben, only you.” Meg slipped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “My mother is a pill, she's opinionated, pushy, and nosy.”

“She's refreshingly honest.” The Mountie countered.

“It's good that you like them, you'll be stuck with them from now on.” She said as she began kissing him deeply.

“Gladly.” Ben replied as they came up for air.

“I should be going, it is chilly out here.” Meg sighed, wishing she could have Ben be her personal bed warmer for the night. They hadn't yet crossed that bridge.

“I'll see you at the consulate in the morning.” He pressed a quick kiss against her full, warm lips.

“I'll be there come hell or high water.” Meg said as she pulled away. Fraser stood at the bottom step and watched her walk up the stairs to the double doors. Meg turned and waved before disappearing into the building.

_**Meg's Apartment ….** _

“There you are, here's your hot chocolate.” Evelyn smiled as she held a second cup for Meg. The lady Mountie slipped out of her navy pea coat and hung it on the coat tree by the door.

“Thanks, Mom.” She sat down on the sofa and kicked her pumps off, wiggling her toes. “Did you drop the wedding dress off here before you came to the restaurant?” Meg asked, enjoying her hot chocolate. She only wished she had some raisin oatmeal cookies to go with it. Timothy sat watching the sports cast in an arm chair, oblivious to talk of wedding dresses.

“Yes, it's hanging up in the bedroom.” Evelyn's eyes took on an excited sparkle. After she'd thought about it, she'd been flattered that Meg had wanted to wear her dress. Together, they went into Meg's bedroom. Evelyn unzipped the extra long garment bag hanging from the top of the closet door. She slipped the bag from around the hanger to reveal her wedding dress.

“My mother and her quilting club made it specially for me.” Her eyes sparkled, thinking back to the days when she and Timothy had been young and passionate. “Here's my mother's signature.” Evelyn held up the hem of the dress and showed a faded pair of initials in pale pink; M.M.

“Margaret MacLeod.” Evelyn breathed.

“But I thought Grandma's name was Margie?” Meg wondered aloud.

“That was her nickname, like everyone calls you 'Meg'.” Evelyn shrugged. Her mother hadn't wanted her to name her only granddaughter after her.

“Why didn't you tell me I was named after Grandma?” The lady Mountie had a new view of her dreaded name.

“Mama didn't want me to name you 'Margaret', she said it was an old lady's name.” Evelyn remembered the day she told her mother she was expecting as clearly as she remembered her own name. Meg had to agree with her grandmother, Margaret was an old lady's name. “She'd just had her first heart attack after Timothy and I married. It was a difficult time for me.” Evelyn smiled but Meg could see the cracks in her armor.

“Fraser and I decided on 'Alice', for the baby.” Meg redirected the subject back to the present.

“That's a lovely name, what's the middle name going to be?” Evelyn asked, eager to hear.

“Ben hasn't told me yet, he's still deliberating.” Meg dreaded to hear what he chose, fearing it would be something off the wall.

“Good luck, you should have heard what your father wanted to give you as a middle name, 'Ronika', for his brother, 'Ronald'.” Evelyn shuddered. Meg laughed.

“Oh, that is something.” Meg shook her head. “Let's see what this dress needs.” The lady Mountie slipped out of her slacks and button down blouse and into the gown.

“Oh, Meg, it's beautiful.” Evelyn teared up, her brown eyes misty. Looking in the full length mirror, Meg saw the ivory, Empire waist gown, thinking her eyes were playing tricks on her for a moment. It wasn't Inspector Margaret Thatcher standing there, instead it was a woman out of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_. The rounded neck was edged with delicate lace and a band of tiny, silver leaves. A wider band of the same design circled just below Meg's breasts. It made her look taller and narrower. Even the short, puff sleeves had silver leaves around them. On the positive side, the design didn't show the baby bump very much either.

“Ooh, you can pull your hair up in a classic, French twist and wear a low rise tiara with a veil. It'll be gorgeous.” Evelyn breathed, dreamily.

 _“I can't wait until Ben sees me in this.”_ Meg thought to herself, wishing the ceremony was the next day instead of the fourth of January. “It's wonderful, Mom, thank you.” Evelyn felt her daughter give her a warm hug.

“Hello, hello.” Timothy said as he came down the hall into Meg's room. “What have we here, the most beautiful young woman in the world.” He smiled, his features full of pride as Meg showed him the dress.

“Oh, Dad.” Meg smiled, pleased that her father approved.

“Benton better remember what a precious gift he's getting.” Timothy's voice grew serious.

“If he forgets I'm sure you'll remind him.” Meg hugged her father fiercely.

“You bet I will.”

****

 


	18. 18

Chapter Eighteen

_**January Fourth …..** _

Meg spent the beginning of the new year getting ready for a new life. She had her mother's wedding gown dry cleaned and altered. Fraser, Turnbull and Evelyn spent a week getting the consulate ready for the wedding. All the red tape paper work and and files in triplicate had been sent to their rightful destinations weeks before. All three of them had double checked to the last period. Meg wasn't about to let a typographical error stop her from getting married before her child's birth.

The night before the wedding, Fraser tended to his dress reds, polishing and double checking every stitch. Dief sat at his feet, dozing from time to time as his human fussed with his uniform.

“Tomorrow morning, promptly at eleven o'clock I'm getting married.” Fraser hummed happily, a rag in one hand and his high browns in the other.

 _“And there's your litter on the way too.”_ Dief let his tongue loll as he looked up at Fraser.

“It's a baby, Diefenbaker, not a litter. Humans don't have a litter.” The Mountie corrected him. The old wolf gave him a _'whatever'_ look.

“Fraser?” Meg said timidly as she tapped on his office door.

“Come in.” Fraser's eyes lit up when he saw her. He dropped what he was doing to step across the small space to her.

“I had to get out of the house, Mother has driven me crazy since she arrived.” Meg sat down at Fraser's desk. She wore an RCMP sweatshirt and a pair of maternity jeans beneath her navy pea coat.

“I'm glad to see you.” The Mountie perched on the edge of his desk, looking down at her. She looked tired, more so than usual.

“Are we doing the right thing, Fraser?” Meg asked boldly. Fraser felt like someone had sucker punched him.

“Yes.” He stated flatly, concern filling his green eyes. “What's on your mind, Meg?” Fraser knelt down beside her.

“I've been thinking, Fraser. Everything is going too good.” She sighed, her brown eyes sad.

“I won't let anything happen.” Fraser reassured her. Meg leaned down to put her cheek against his. None of it felt real, Meg felt like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. As she leaned forward she saw newspapers on Fraser's desk. There were ads circled in red and notes in the margin.

 _“2 br apt lake view.”_ was circled in four different sections of the advertisement section.

“You've been looking for a new apartment?” Meg looked at Ben, confused and relieved.

“Yes.” Ben smiled, a laugh welling up.

“For the three of us?” Meg laid her hand on her burgeoning stomach.

“Diefenbaker makes four actually, although some would say that an animal doesn't really count as a pet.” Fraser began to ramble. He was cut short by a bone crunching hug from Meg.

“I don't care if we have to have a four bedroom house for the baby, me, you, Diefenbaker _and_ your ghost.” Meg let the emotion in her voice carry through.

“Ghost?” Fraser's eyebrows shot straight up. “How did you ....?” Meg laid a soft finger on his lips to shush him.

“I've seen your father's ghost since the baby.” Meg shrugged, more composed.

“Ah.” Fraser wasn't certain what to say to that. “You didn't say anything.” He stated, still surprised.

“I hadn't intended to. I expected you to tell me.” Meg's tone took an edge to it.

“Telling someone you see the ghost of your deceased father isn't exactly what I'd imagine a prospective bride wants to hear.” Fraser shrugged, glad it was out in the open.

“And when were you going to tell me, when Alice said hello to 'Grandpa Fraser' ?” Meg chided him a mischievous glint to her brown eyes.

“I see your point.” Fraser ceded.

“Is there anything else I should know?” Meg asked, wondering what other peculiarities Ben kept under his Stetson.

“Most likely.” Ben teased gently. He took her hands in his as he returned to his place on the desk.

“I can't wait until our honeymoon.” Meg sighed. Ben bent down and gave her a warm, passionate kiss. Meg could tell he was looking forward to the honeymoon too.

“I'll see you tomorrow morning.” Fraser said, standing up.

“Are you running me out of here, Constable Fraser?” Meg said in mock annoyance.

“With all my love, yes.” He answered as they strolled down the hallway.

“With all my love, goodnight, Ben.” Meg kissed him goodnight and left the consulate.

_**The Wedding Day ….** _

“Are you nervous, Sir?” Turnbull asked conspiratorially to Fraser as he stood beside him at the altar. Everyone had gathered in the sitting room. White folding chairs formed five, short rows for the small number of guests who'd turned out. Each row had a red rose tied to a white, waist high pillar with gold and and navy ribbon. On top of each pillar was a thick, white candle.

“Yes, I am.” Fraser ran his finger around his stiff collar.

“You'll do fine, Son.” Robert Fraser said as he stood behind his son. Ben turned around to look at him. The younger Mountie smiled, glad to see his father had finally made an appearance.

When the wedding march started to play, all the guests stood up to see the bride on her father's arm. Evelyn was dabbing at her eyes already, as was Frannie. Fraser's breath caught in his chest when he saw her standing in the entrance to the consulate. She glowed in the morning light coming through the high windows. With her hair swept up into a French twist and the ivory colored, Empire waist dress, Meg looked like a vision from one of the books Ben had read as a boy. She slowly made her way up the aisle toward him a smile lighting her beautiful features. Mr. Thatcher beamed with pride as Meg walked down the aisle on his arm.

“I always cry at weddings.” Frannie said before she blew her nose on a handkerchief.

“Friends, we are gathered here to witness the union between two, long time colleagues, Constable Benton Fraser and Inspector Meg Thatcher.” The pastor flown down from Ottawa began. Ben heard the words but he couldn't take his eyes off Meg as he held her hands in his. Ray stood beside him, his best man, itching to give Fraser the wedding band. The Chicago detective looked dashing in a dark, navy suit with a red and gold, pin stripped tie. Turnbull beamed complacently in his dress reds beside the detective. On the other side of Meg was Francesca, dressed in a dark navy dress and matching pill box hat with a small, red veil. She held a single, red rose. Stella Kowalski wore a similar ensemble, casting admiring glances at Ray as the ceremony progressed.

“I now pronounce you, man and wife, you may now kiss the bride.” The pastor pronounced with a smile. Fraser carefully raised the veil over Meg's head and leaned in for the customary kiss. A cheer went up from all the guests as the couple turned, officially married.

“Oh, my baby's married.” Evelyn wailed as Ben and Meg began to walk down the aisle, toward a waiting limousine.

“Now, now, Evelyn, she's in good hands.” Timothy took her in his arms so she could cry into his shoulder.

“But she's my baby.” The woman said again, more quietly. Timothy just rocked her gently, talking to her soothingly.

“Oh, Ben, it was perfect.” Meg breathed as he helped her into the limo, the guests raining flower petals and bird seed down on them. A photographer had been snapping pictures the entire ceremony. He caught them as they kissed, their faces silhouetted in the rear window.

“Yes, it was.” Ben ran his thumb along her cheek as the driver pulled away from the curb.

_**The Honeymoon ….** _

“Good-bye, Mom, Dad, I love you.” Meg hugged her parents before they got into the rental car outside the Thatcher's brick house in Ottawa. The lady Mountie knew her parents well enough to know that if they didn't book a bed and breakfast it wouldn't be much of a honeymoon for them. Still, she'd promised to spend time with her parents. Meg had compromised and booked a B&B across town from her parents' house.

“We love you too, sweet heart.” Evelyn waved. You'd think Meg were moving to Florida instead of driving across town.

“We'll see you tomorrow for dinner, alright.” Timothy called as he watched Meg close the car door. She waved to him.

“Shall we?” Ben asked before turning the ignition.

“Yes, let's go, I can't wait to lay down for a nap.” Meg buckled her seat belt as Ben put the car in gear.

_**B &B … ** _

Malloy's Bed and Breakfast sat on what had once been a farm on the outskirts of the metropolitan city. It still retained several acres around the sprawling Victorian house and barn. A thick frost hung on in the shadow of the barn as Ben and Meg pulled up.

“This is lovely.” Ben stepped out, pulling on his Stetson.

“I thought you'd like it. They have an excellent reputation.” Meg said as she pulled her overnight bag out of the back seat of the rental sedan.

“I wouldn't have cared if we'd stayed in the consulate.” Ben came around and without a word, took her bag away from her. Meg pursed her lips and gave him a flash of annoyance that she didn't really feel.

“You wouldn't have cared if I'd booked a cave.” Meg teased as she took the lead. The Mountie behind her shrugged. He wouldn't have minded, as long as he got to spend time with Meg- _ **alone.**_

“Hello, how may I help you?” An older gentleman with a gold name tag with 'Henry' printed in bold letters, asked the couple as they walked up to a large, wooden desk in the living room of the old Victorian.

“We have reservations under Thatcher-Fraser.” Meg smiled as she dug out the conformation ticket she'd been sent through the mail weeks before.

“Ah, here we are, room five, top of the stairs to the left, it faces the back, to the east.” Henry smiled, his pale eyes disappearing behind crinkled cheeks. “Breakfast is from six to nine o'clock, let me or my wife, Melinda, know if you need anything.”

“Thank you kindly.” Ben nodded as he followed Meg toward the stairs. Black and white photographs more than a century old hung along the wall up the stairs. Their intricately carved frames were hand crafted. Meg noted the smooth, soft feeling of the regularly polished hand rail as she took the stairs slowly. She was beginning to feel the difference in her weight as the baby grew.

Ben and Meg's room was beautifully decorated. The genuine, antique, four poster bed had a double wedding ring quilt spread over it in a sky blue and sunshine yellow with purple accents. The furniture too was antique in design but newly purchased. Lace curtains at the windows had been opened to light the comfortably appointed room. Darker, heavier, navy blue curtains framed the scene outside.

“This is what I have been looking forward to.” Meg slipped out of her coat and flopped down on the bed on her back with a contented sigh. The whole place was quiet and peaceful. Ben set the bags down near the dresser and shucked out of his leather coat and Stetson. He settled down on the bed beside her. Ben held Meg close, so close that he felt her hair against the side of his face. She fit against his body perfectly, as if she truly were built out of his rib like Eve was for Adam. Her curves hugged his lines and planes, interlocking like jigsaw puzzle pieces. Meg laid her head against his shoulder, her temple laying against his collar bone. Her arms circled his lower chest, comfortably clinging to him. Ben rubbed circles along her back, breathing deeply of her unique scent. He felt her knee graze his shin as she settled against him in the queen size bed. They lay in contented silence, both of them enjoying the feeling of affection and safety in each other's arms. Gently Ben pressed a kiss against her soft hair.

“Which one of us is dreaming, Ben?” Meg said softly, looking up at him.

“I believe I am.” Ben smiled down at her, his eyes twinkling.

“I would have to disagree.” Meg smiled back, teasing him.

“As long as the dream doesn't end.” He conceded.

“I never want to wake up.” Meg sighed, lacing her fingers with his on his stomach.

“Neither do I.” Ben pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed her palm.

“I had imagined our first night together a bit differently.” Meg said as she laid her free hand on her growing baby bump. Ben chuckled, remembering the night of the museum theft and what had went on between them in the last office on the left.

“As had I.” Ben laid his hand over Meg's on her stomach. “But all's well that ends well.”

“I keep thinking I'm going to wake up and be back at the consulate.” A note of fear crept into Meg's voice.

“Alice and I are very real, Meg.” Ben gave her a gentle squeeze as he looked into her dark brown eyes. “I love you, Margaret Thatcher Fraser.” He pressed a kiss against her forehead.

“I love you too, Benton Fraser.” She smiled, moving up for a real kiss. Meg felt his passions rise as he ran his fingers through her hair and his kisses trail down her neck. When he nibbled her collar bone, Meg giggled.

“That tickles.” She squirmed against him. Ben did it again, laughing with her. It felt good to laugh together, to be able to love him freely, the way she'd wanted to for so long.

“I could almost thank Carlos Ramirez.” Meg said when they finally came up for air.

“I agree, if he hadn't laced our coffees with Love Dust, we wouldn't be here now.” Ben agreed, his arms circling Meg as she laid on her side.

“You didn't marry me because I'm pregnant, did you, Ben?” She asked, raising up to look at him better.

“No, I've wanted you since the first time I looked into those beautiful eyes, the earth tilted and I've been climbing toward you ever since.” The Mountie looked at her, pegging her with one of his intense, smoldering gazes. Meg laid back down and snuggled against him again, her fears assuaged. Together they settled down and soon fell asleep.  


	19. 19 The End

 Chapter Nineteen

_**June …** _

Meg had started wearing her loosest clothing by the first real snow fall of the year. She'd been juggling her consulate responsibilities and the repercussions of being pregnant for months. If that wasn't enough, Dief had decided he was her personal lap dog. He sat beside her desk, eying her from time to time. Fraser wasn't much better. The Mountie had started taking his lunch in Meg's office whenever possible since he'd proposed.

Sometimes Meg would catch him watching her as she moved around the office. She could sense such warm emotion in his expression when she caught him staring at her growing form. The lady Mountie ached for him to touch her, to feel the new life progressing inside her. Meg needed to feel his strength at times.

The second week of May Dr. Howard scheduled the lady Mountie for her last ultrasound. She felt apprehensive about the results. This child meant more to her than anything ever had, her career, her parents, even Fraser.

Meg had left after lunch, allowing extra time for her ungainly gait and the heat. The taxi dropped her off across the street from the doctors' offices. She felt relieved when she saw the familiar, red figure jogging toward her, a white fuzzball trotting beside him.

“My apologies for my tardiness.” Fraser came to a halt in front of Meg, his finger tracing the buckle of his Sam Brown belt.

“I'm twenty minutes early, Fraser.” Meg shook her head at him, hoping that their baby shared his propensity for being early.

“Ah, yes, I see.” The Mountie checked his wrist watch.

“Come on, Fraser, Dr. Botner wanted to see Dief the next time he decided to accompany me.” Meg rolled her eyes at the fondness her general practitioner had developed for the Arctic wolf.

**

“Okay, lay down, now this will be cold, alright.” Tammy, the new ultrasound technician smiled sweetly as she put a tube of ultrasound jelly under her arm to warm it. The petite blonde loved her job, seeing new parents getting a first glimpse of their little ones. She noted the quiet way this pair had about them.

“Is this your first child?” Tammy asked as she warmed the machine up in the small room decorated with pastel elephants and lions. Florescent light reflected off of her wire framed lenses.

“Yes.” Meg smiled as she unbuttoned her blouse to expose her baby bump.

“I bet both of you are excited.” The experienced tech looked from mom to pop.

“Yes,” Both Meg and Fraser answered in unison as Tammy spread the clear jell on Meg's skin.

She had to chuckle at them. Next she took out the want, squishing it into a mound of jell. The first black and white image appeared on the screen. It didn't look like much.

“Fraser, that's our baby.” Meg spoke in hushed tone full of wonder. She took him by the hand and laid his warm fingers along the side of her stomach. Her eyes danced with joy as the radiologist turned up the sound on the heartbeat.

“Our baby.” Fraser breathed, feeling overwhelmed at the thought of having a child. What added to it was the feel of her hand laying on top of his. Benton never thought he'd feel like this; so connected, so important, to anyone.

Meg saw that amazed look on his face and knew that they were sharing an important moment together. With one finger, she motioned for him to draw nearer. Meg took him by the lanyard and pulled him into a quick but passionate kiss. Their fingers laced as they lay on her stomach.

“Do you want to know the gender of your baby before delivery?” Tammy asked, hoping she would be able to tell them it was a girl.

“Yes” Fraser said as he looked over Tammy's shoulder. He could discern the head and appendages.

“No” Meg answered boldly, looking at Fraser, confused.

“I need to know, guys.” Tammy's soft voice came as she worked the radiology equipment.

“As long as the baby is healthy.” Fraser relented, looking down into Meg's eyes.

“No, I do want to know, we should discuss the middle name.” The lady Mountie smiled, glad that he had expressed his opinion without hedging.

Tammy began trying to move the wand in position to identify the gender. She had to stand on tip toe to get the image.

“It's a girl.” The radiologist proudly announced. She charted some measurements. A tap at the door came before Dr. Howard, a petite, bird like lady with bright blue eyes and blonde curls, entered.

“Hello, how are things going?” Dr. Howard shuffled in, her small, white coat nearly swallowing her.

“It's a girl, Dr. Howard.” Meg volunteered, still beaming like a flood light.

Fraser was almost as amazed at the change in Meg as he was at seeing his daughter on screen.

“Let me take a peek, okay?” the small, doll-like doctor took the helm from the radiologist. Meg and Fraser waited on pins and needles, watching Dr. Howard's every move. Both of them feared the worst secretly.

“Well, everything seems to be going smoothly, lets' make an appointment for a few weeks.” Dr. Howard's tone was optimistic. Tammy handed Meg a wash cloth to get the jell off.

“Would you like pictures of the baby?” The radiologist offered. The Mounties looked at each other before answering with a 'Yes' in unison-again.

“Do you two do that all the time?” Tammy asked, amused. They seemed an odd pair. Fraser looked down at the floor while Meg smiled. They did tend to echo each other.

“I'll have your pictures ready in a bit, have a seat in the waiting room, okay.”

In a few minutes, Meg had pulled herself back together, Fraser holding her jacket over one arm. They seemed a lot more at ease with each other.

“Thank you for coming, Fraser.” Meg said as she exited the exam room, the Mountie behind her.

“It was my pleasure, Meg.” He had taken to calling her by first name when possible, thrilling her to no end after so long of hearing 'Inspector Thatcher'.

“Have you had lunch yet?” Meg stopped in the hallway, turning to face him.

“No, I haven't, would you like to go somewhere for a meal?” The Mountie took the hint. Meg smiled up at him. She slid her arm into the jacket he held up for her to slip into. Gently, Fraser straightened the collar on her coat, his fingers brushing against her neck, sending chills up her spine. Without a word, they simply stood looking at each other, enjoying the peaceful moment. Fraser ran his thumb along Meg's cheek. The lady Mountie reached up to feel his rough hand.

“Let's go to lunch, we can talk about names while we eat.” Meg suggested, wrinkling her nose playfully.

_**Birthday ….** _

The last week of May was Meg's last week at the consulate before she took maternity leave. In a way she was glad to have the time off. She still had paperwork from the museum theft. That she finished two days before leaving Fraser in charge.

The Mountie hated not seeing her every day around the consulate. The office seemed unearthly quiet without her. Unfortunately, Fraser had no one to distract Turnbull. He knew why Meg was cranky- Turnbull. The man had absolutely no common sense, he was so full of procedure and logic that he didn't know how to stick his finger in a peanut butter jar without a manual.

“Hello, Fraser, how are things at the consulate?” Meg asked when the phone rang precisely at twelve-thirty, the same time he called every day.

“How did you know it was me calling?” He sounded genuinely surprised. Meg just shook her head.

“You are so predictable, Fraser.” She sighed.

“How are you feeling today?” The Mountie asked, his tone concerned and intimate.

“I'm fine, thank you. Are you ready to send Turnbull back to Ottawa yet?” Meg sounded cheerful, teasing.

“Yes, but I don't wish to do my country a disservice.” Fraser smiled. Turnbull's bumbles had become their inside joke. He launched into the junior Mountie's latest annoying exploit. Meg sat listening, her feet propped up and a bowl of popcorn and raisins beside her on the sofa. Suddenly, she felt something she hadn't felt before. Meg slid the bowl onto the coffee table and stood up. Something was different.

“Fraser, tell Turnbull to hold all your calls, you're meeting me at the hospital.” Meg gathered the overnight bag she'd been keeping by the door.

“What? You mean you're due to deliver? Right now? Are you certain that it ” His voice rose a fraction.

“Meet me at the hospital, Fraser.” Meg hung up the phone.

 _ **Twenty Minutes later …**_.

Ray drove Fraser to the hospital. The detective revved the GTO up and put the blue light to good use. Normally, the Mountie would have frowned on using the detective's station for personal gain, but it wasn't just any day that his daughter was being born. Frannie and the gang were on the other end of the cell phone line.

“Yeah, Frannie, we uh, we just got here.” Ray held the cell to one ear as he shoved the car into park. “We'll call you back with the news.” He abruptly hung up. Fraser had already made his way to the admitting desk. When Ray caught up to him, the Mountie took off again, a nurse pointing him down the hall. Ray jogged to catch up.

Meg was laying on an exam table, a nurse taking her pulse. She seemed distressed, which distressed Fraser.

“Meg, how are you?” She glared at him. Fraser knew that it was going to be a long labor, for the both of them.

“Today is the day, Ben.” Meg softened.

“Your due date isn't due for two more weeks.” The Mountie calculated.

“Tell that to her.” Meg laid a hand on her hospital gown covered stomach.

“You aren't supposed to arrive for two weeks.” Ben laid her hand on top of Meg's, shaking his head. They heard the sound of a camera shutter.

“Nice,” Ray grinned, holding a disposable camera. He got the mother of all annoyed glares from Meg.

“I'll give you double prints.” The detective wiggled his eyebrows.

“Ray, please, now is not the time.” Fraser warned him politely. Meg looked at him as if that were an understatement.

“I just, ah, thought that you'd want to remember this day, with pictures. I've been carrying this with me for the last week.” Ray shrugged.

“Detective, please leave.” Meg said coldly as a labor pain shot through her.

“I'm goin', I'm goin'.” Ray threw his hands up before shuffling out to the waiting room. An older nurse slipped in as he left.

“Alright, it's time for your epidural, Mrs. Fraser.” The nurse smiled, her eyes nearly disappearing behind her apple cheeks.

“I assumed you were having the baby naturally.” Fraser turned to Meg, who was going through her breathing exercises. She shook her head.

“No, Fraser, I am not, there is no way in hell I am passing something the size of a watermelon through a hole the size of a grapefruit without pain medication, and the more the better.” Meg insisted, her dark eyes taking on a steely determination. Fraser had seen that look before.

“Understood.” Was all he said on the subject.

“Good, now, have you called my mother yet?” Meg asked as the labor pain eased off.

“No, I haven't.” Fraser pulled the number out of his Stetson.

“Do so, please, tell her that I'm fine.” Meg instructed, wishing her parents were with her.

“I'll be back momentarily.” In a red flash, Ben disappeared.

_**In the Waiting Room …** _

Frannie, Lt. Welsh and Diefenbaker sat on hard, plastic chairs, waiting for news. They didn't expect to hear anything for quite a while.

“This is taking forever.” Ray complained as he sipped his third cup of coffee.

“Babies, do, Ray, they take like ten months before they're born, then the labor takes sometimes a day and a half.” Frannie began.

“We all went to health class, Frannie, chill, okay.” Ray interrupted.

“What did you get them for a shower present?” Lt. Welsh asked Ray, to change the subject.

“Nothin' yet, I never know what to get for those things, Stella always did that.” Ray shrugged, leaning against a mint green, pastel wall.

“I bought a savings bond for the kid.” Welsh said, wishing he knew what to get.

“That's going to be be wonderful to hug.” Frannie said sarcastically. “Ma and I got a memory book for them.” She smiled, remembering strolling down the baby aisle at JC Penny's. It had been hard for the Civilian Aide to let go of the fantasy that someday she and Fraser would be walking toward the altar then welcoming a baby.

“That's nice.” Ray smirked at her. Gifts from all over Chicago and a good section of Canada had arrived at the consulate. Turnbull's eyes lit up every time another package arrived. Welsh didn't know if Frannie bickered more with her real brother or her adopted - sort of- brother.

_**Seven O'clock the Next Day ….** _

“Congratulations, you're a father.” Dr. Howard said as she laid Alice in Ben's arms. Smiling from ear to ear, the Mountie peered down into his daughter's face for the first time. He counted her fingers, then her toes. Gently, Ben ran a finger lightly over the dark layer of hair standing up every which way.

“She takes after you, you know that.” Robert Fraser said as his son held his precious girl for the first time.

“She's beautiful, she's perfect.” Ben's eyes misted as he studied her tiny features.

“Now you know how me and your mother felt the day you were born.” Robert smiled down at his granddaughter, waving as she turned her head toward him.

“Ben,” Meg said after the doctors and nurses had cleared out a bit. Carefully, Ben stepped to her side.

“Alice Blythe Fraser, you chose a good middle name.” Meg let Ben lay Alice in her arms. One of the nurses snapped a picture of the three of them with Ray's disposable camera. Later, no one would be able to explain the fog in the upper corner of the photo behind them. Fraser and Meg knew that it was Robert Fraser, mugging for the camera.

_**Back out in the Lobby ….** _

“She's here, Alice is here.” Fraser walked out of the delivery room toward his waiting friends. Frannie woke up with a jerk while Ray snoozed on without a hitch. Lt. Welsh turned from the window. He walked over to the sleeping detective and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Stella, please.” He said before becoming cognizant of his surroundings.

“The baby's arrived, Ray.” Welsh filled him in. Everyone followed the proud father into the hallway outside the delivery room. A strip of tape on one of the bassinets said 'Fraser, A.'” A bright eyed baby girl peered up, her tiny hand seeming to wave at them.

“She's beautiful, Benton.” The Mountie turned to see his father standing in the rear of the crowd. If possible, Ben smiled bigger.

“How's the Inspector?” Ray asked, turning Fraser's attention back to the living.

“I just left her a moment ago, she's resting right now.” Ben asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He'd taken off his red tunic and stood wearing just his white, long sleeved under shirt.

“Congratulations, buddy, you're a father.” Ray gave his best friend a quick hug before Frannie got to him.

“You'll be a good dad, Fraser.” Tears welled up in the spunky Civilian Aide's brown eyes.

“Thank you kindly, Francesca.” Ben nodded, glad she was happy for him. He felt Welsh clasp him on the back with a hearty slap.

“Thank you all, for everything.” Ben wanted to hug them all. He'd never thought this day would come, that he would have a family and friends in such a foreign place. But Chicago had become Ben's home.

**The End**

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
